Sins of the Father
by qwertygal
Summary: "...William had waited such a long time to be accepted by Rittenhouse, practically since the day he was born..." -What if Jessica Logan *had* been telling the truth about being pregnant? -Multiple POV, post season two finale, co-written with Gracielinn. (TFP)
1. Chapter 1

" _The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children." - William Shakespeare_

The space was closed and cramped. He felt like he was stuck inside a tin can of all things, and he didn't like it. The lighting inside the tight quarters was appropriately dim except for the glaring incandescent lights on the computer terminal in front of him. He didn't like them either. No, William wasn't happy with any of this-didn't like sitting on the grimy floor of the van, didn't like the electronics that currently surrounded him. He wasn't used to it, and desperately wanted what he _was_ used to. But, unfortunately, this was their test, the chosen means of determining if he was worthy, a way to prove to them without a shadow of a doubt. And he had waited such a long time to be accepted by them (practically his whole life, it seemed), and now he was _this_ close. Just one mission away from taking his place in their ranks. There was nothing William wanted more-not since he'd first heard the whispered name of 'Rittenhouse.'

But first, there was one last test. And like all tests, it wasn't supposed to be easy, not even this first small step of it. So he would bear the tight metallic interior of this van, and try not to think about how it felt like the walls of the van were closing in on him. He would bear the harsh lights of the personal computer monitor. He would bear the personal computer itself, for though he didn't like it, he certainly understood its usefulness. In short, William would do his job. Because it was what Rittenhouse asked of him (what _she_ asked of him). They had asked him to do a job. And he wouldn't disappoint them. He wouldn't disappoint _her._ After all, as he'd heard since he was a small child, this was his birthright, wasn't it?

So here William sat, in the unusual van, on a quiet street, little more than a block away from the room he had been asked to surveil...in the year 2020. He shook his head absently, willing away the queasy surrealness that overcame him whenever he thought about time travel. Instead, he flipped the switches-the way they'd shown him-and the computer whirred to life. The screen slowly revealed a picture. It was focused on a white wall, and the corner of a ceiling of an interior room.

William moved the remote sideways, causing the tiny camera to also swing sideways from its hiding place in the ceiling tiles, so that he could view the foyer of the room.

 _There._

The door to the room swung open, admitting two people, a man and a woman. He recognized them immediately from their pictures. The woman (her name was Lucy, Dr. Lucy Preston, he reminded himself) began speaking, and he tapped upward on the volume meter of the listening device. William didn't catch what she said, but it must have been funny, because the man beside her-the one called Rufus-barked out a loud peal of joyful laughter that nearly blew the ear piece out of his ear.

William still had no idea how the Rittenhouse 'inside man' had managed it-a man he'd been told to contact just the day before. How had he ever managed to get a camera and a listening device into an office on an Army base that was supposed to be top secret? But he supposed it was of little consequence, and carefully turned the camera again to center the two figures on his computer screen. All that really mattered was that it had worked, and he could both see and hear them-so he could take the information he gathered back to the people who controlled his destiny. Back to Rittenhouse.

The door from the corridor opened again, admitting another man. William hissed wordlessly in surprise and bit his lip. To see him in person, to really see him-and not just in pictures-was a greater shock than he'd anticipated.

Another peal of laughter from Rufus inside his ear interrupted his train of thought.

"Look at you," Rufus' voice came in gasps amidst the laughter.

"Be cool," the other man nearly growled in a deep voice, even as he smiled at the others.

So that was what his voice sounded like. Without even realizing that he had done so, he turned the volume up higher.

Dr. Preston didn't seem to find the man's appearance as humorous as Rufus. William's breath caught involuntarily at the soft smile she bestowed on him before brushing her hand across the man's shoulder, trailing her fingers down his lapel in an intimate gesture.

"You look amazing," she assured the man, gazing up at him.

"Yeah, sure," Rufus snickered. "Amazing. That's one word for the Army-issue monkey suit. Seriously, did someone forget to mention it was Halloween?"

The other man shook his head in resignation. "Look, do you think I'd have put the dress uniform on if they hadn't insisted on it?"

Even on the small laptop screen, the familiarity of those blue eyes wasn't lost on him.

"Well, I like the look," the woman insisted.

Rufus turned toward the camera again just in time for William to see his dramatic eye roll. "Of course _you_ would." Rufus turned back toward the other two, away from the camera. "But then, you agreed to _marry_ this guy, you know, tie yourself to him _forever,_ just last week, so I think your judgement is suspect."

William winced at the unexpected revelation. " _Was that something Rittenhouse should be informed of?"_ he wondered, and watched as Lucy turned to Rufus with a challenge in her eye. Before she could say anything though, Rufus continued.

"And what _is_ it with women anyway. Jiya's the same-nearly lost her mind today at the notion of me in a suit."

"Hey, it wouldn't hurt you to throw her a bone now and then, buddy. You know, wear something fancier than your 'dress' hoodie." The other man gave his friend a lopsided grin.

"What do you think this is?" asked Rufus, tugging at his lapels of his very new-looking suit. "And I'll have you know, when I do choose to wear a suit, _I_ rock it." He leaned in closer to the woman, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that the audio device still registered. "Admit it-I look way better than GI Ken doll here."

She smiled, tilting her head toward the Ken doll in question, who rolled his eyes again.

"Come on."

There was a slight edge to the man's voice now that hadn't been there before. Was that what he sounded like when he was angry? Or was he merely slightly annoyed? William shook his head. " _Don't start caring about that_ ," he chided himself.

Rufus shrugged unrepentantly. "You know I joke when I get nervous, it's my defense mechanism."

"You're nervous?" Lucy asked, one elegant dark brow raised inquisitively.

"Sure," he answered. "Not every day regular people like us get awarded a medal. A secret medal that we're not ever allowed to talk about or keep with us, or even look at after today….but a medal nonetheless."

The other man nodded, his face softening. "I know it's kind of weird, the secrecy of it all, but you guys deserve this. I mean, what you've been through-"

"What we've all been through," the woman cut him off.

"Yep," nodded Rufus, "The time team—me an' Lucy, and the penguin man here."

"Penguin man?" Lucy asked, her nose crinkling skeptically.

"Not your best line there," agreed the other man.

Rufus grinned sheepishly, "Not gonna lie, the breadth of tuxedo-related humor is far wider than U.S. Army dress uniform humor."

"Seriously, Rufus. One more crack about the uniform, and your Go-Bots are gonna be orphans!" he promised.

William inhaled sharply-and pushed himself back from the computer screen.

* * *

He had been five years old the first time he heard the word "orphan." It was the second day of kindergarten, and the line for the water fountain was taking forever. Normally a quiet child, he could sometimes be impatient, which never failed to make his aunt frown. Sighing gustily, William decided that recess was his favorite part of the school day, although snack time and story time were very nice, too. His dark brows drew together in displeasure at the thought of nap time (naps were for babies, and he was a big boy now, Aunt Emma said so), but really, it was only for an hour in the afternoon. A small price to pay for everything else he liked about kindergarten.

Looking around the hallway, William noticed his teacher, Mrs. Harper, waiting by the classroom door, talking to a lady with brown hair and glasses he didn't know. Over the noisy chatter of his classmates, William overheard the other woman ask Mrs. Harper, " _Who's the dark-haired little boy with the big blue eyes?"_

Surprised when both women turned to look at him, he hastily ducked his head when his teacher responded, " _That's William Logan, his family just moved to town over the summer,"_ and then leaning closer to her companion, lowered her voice slightly and said, " _He's an orphan, being raised by his aunt."_

What did she mean by that? What was an orphan? Did Mrs. Harper say that because William didn't have a mommy or daddy? Even at the tender age of five, he knew his life was different from the other boys and girls, because his aunt told him so. When Aunt Emma visited him the week before kindergarten started, she lifted him onto her lap, and said in a serious, grownup voice, " _William, we need to have a talk before you go to school, alright?"_

He nodded solemnly, watching her face carefully. William loved his aunt, despite seeing her only a couple times a month when she visited him and the Smiths, the man and woman he lived with.

For the next ten minutes or so, Aunt Emma talked about the extra special place she worked, how important her job was, and surprisingly, how important _he_ would be some day to her job. William was different from other little boys and girls, she said, and he must always remember that. He needed to be a very good boy at school and learn all he could so that _some day_ when he was a grown up like his aunt, there would be a place for him.

It was all very confusing. He was only five years old and just learned his ABC's and how to write his full name last year and could still only count to 100. How could a little boy be as important as his smart, pretty aunt? Then she told him the name of the people she worked for was Rittenhouse, but he could never say the name out loud or tell anyone where his Aunt Emma worked.

" _Do you understand, William? I know this is a lot of responsibility, but you are a very smart little boy, and I want you to do your best. Can you do that for me_?" Naturally, William nodded his head obediently-he would do anything to please Aunt Emma. And so, from the age of five on, William Logan was always aware he wasn't like any of his little classmates, and never would be because of the vague promise of _some day._

* * *

William shook his head, and leaned back toward the monitor. Now it appeared that _some day_ was finally here. He turned the camera again as a few more people entered the room-military brass from the look of their uniforms, not important to his mission. He tried to re-focus on the room's original three occupants, but it became difficult as more people entered, and the trio grew quiet.

William drummed his fingers on the counter with frustration. What good was it to listen in on their conversation if they weren't going to actually _say_ anything? He didn't yet understand how any of this was of value to the Rittenhouse plan….but it was what his aunt had asked him to do. His aunt, who had said she would be here with him tonight. He glanced toward the van doors. It was early-she still might come. And then he could ask her more about the reason for this part of the assignment. William glanced at the screen, the movements of Rufus and the other man catching his attention again. He shook his head, silently admonishing himself, " _Don't think about that now-don't think about him!"_ He could wait….wait for Emma to arrive, and to answer his questions. After all, he had done just that so many times before...

* * *

 _Flashback_

Once the first weak glimmers of daylight had begun to filter through the heavy curtains of his bedroom windows, William had sighed in relief. Finally, it was Christmas Day, and Aunt Emma would be here soon, and because it was Christmas, she would stay with him the whole afternoon, not just for an hour or so like her usual visits. Secretly, that was the reason today was his favorite day of the year.

Of course, presents were nice, too, and this year William's list had only one thing on it-a new bike. He had never wanted anything so badly, ever. But not just any old bicycle. No, ma'am, this was a very special two-wheeler that he had first seen at McCoy's Hardware around Thanksgiving when the store decorated its front window for the holidays. The bike in question was a Schwinn Deluxe Tornado, and the most beautiful thing William Logan had ever seen. Given a place of honor in the Christmas display, he and his friends stopped every day after school to admire the sleek lines of the red and white Tornado.

Just imagining himself riding such a wonderful bicycle all around town made William shiver in delight. A neatly-printed card propped against the back wheel listed all the features, and he'd read them so often, he could practically recite the list in his sleep-a rear carrier, detachable kickstand, enameled rims, a horn, even a headlight. If William had a bike like that, maybe he could get a paper route like his friend, Tim, and start earning extra money so Aunt Emma wouldn't have to work so hard ( _and maybe have more time to spend with him._ )

William loved his aunt very much, and he knew the reason she worked all the time was so that he could live in a nice house and have plenty to eat. ( _William knew this because she told him quite often, ever since he was a small boy_.) He had been aware from a young age that his life was nothing like any of his small group of friends, because all the boys in his fourth grade class had mothers and fathers-well, except for Joe Williams, whose dad got killed in the war when Joe was a little baby, in a place far away called Korea.

He tried not to think about it, but it did bother William sometimes to not have parents. It made him different from his classmates, and he _hated_ feeling that way. (He wanted badly to fit in, be just like everyone else.) The one and only time William screwed up the courage to ask his aunt about them was on his ninth birthday, and he almost immediately regretted asking when he saw the faintly annoyed expression on her face. His stomach started to feel sick and he began to stammer an apology, but then, something happened that shocked William: instead of frowning and scolding him, Aunt Emma had only sighed and patted a spot on the sofa beside her. He sat gingerly, completely mystified by her unexpected response.

" _William, you are nine years old today, and old enough, I think, to start learning about your history. Would you like that?"_ and William nodded so enthusiastically, he almost fell off the sofa, making his aunt chuckle. He loved the sound of Aunt Emma's seldom-heard laughter because it made him happy. That feeling soon faded, however, crushed under the weight of the sad story she shared with him. Reaching into her pocketbook, Aunt Emma pulled out a small picture of a pretty young woman with blonde hair and kind brown eyes.

His mother's name was Jessica, and she had died only hours after his birth. She was the one who named him William, his aunt related, and he was fiercely glad she pretended not to notice the single tear that escaped down his cheek. _Jessica_. That was a nice name. He blinked furiously and swallowed hard at the strange, heavy feeling in his chest, embarrassed at looking like a crybaby in front of his aunt. And then Aunt Emma did something even more unusual-she put her arm around William and hugged him.

She almost never touched William, and his senses reeled at the warmth of her arm and the smell of her perfume. But then he ruined the wonderful moment by asking about his father. Aunt Emma stiffened up and pulled away, and William was mad at himself for asking such a dumb question. " _I'm sorry, Aunt Emma,"_ he gulped, trying to appease her, when she surprised him once again.

Giving him a pained smile, she said, " _It's alright, William, I suppose it's only natural that you should wonder about your father. It's time you learned who he is,"_ and he was amazed when she retrieved another small picture and handed it to William. He took the picture frame eagerly, and at his first glimpse of the man who fathered him, William nearly dropped the picture.

Sucking in a shocked breath, he looked up at his aunt and blurted out, " _He looks just like me!_ " Now William understood where his dark hair and blue eyes came from-his father-a man he had never met.

He raised inquisitive eyes to Aunt Emma, and before he could form the words, she volunteered, " _His name is Wyatt Logan, and he's a soldier,"_ and William's heart sank. Soldiers were in the Army and fought in wars, and died, like Joe's dad.

" _Is he dead, too, like my mother?"_ William asked hesitantly, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. After all, if his father was still alive, why would William live with the Smiths? Why wouldn't he live with his dad?

" _William, this is hard to say, and I need you to be brave, but your father is not dead,"_ and his young heart soared at this confusing, but exciting piece of information. He had a father who was a soldier (which meant he was brave) and looked just like him. William's euphoria was short-lived, however, and died entirely at Aunt Emma's next words.

With an odd gleam in her pale green eyes, his aunt quickly set him straight and shattered his youthful illusions forever. Yes, his father was alive, but unfortunately, not only did he live some place far, far away, Wyatt Logan didn't want a child. He was too busy with the woman he was going to marry, a teacher named Lucy Preston. That was why Aunt Emma was raising him. His immature heart and mind tried to make sense of this devastating revelation. Years later, William would come across the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for," and smile bitterly.

It was awful enough to learn his mother was dead, but even worse, his father was _alive_ , _but didn't want his son_ because of some woman named Lucy. All his childish hopes and dreams died that day, and William never again asked his aunt about Wyatt Logan. Strangely enough, though, after her visit was over, William found the two small pictures of his parents on his dresser, and unable to help himself, looked at the picture of his mother every day. The picture of Wyatt Logan (he would _never_ call him "dad"), on the other hand, was turned faced down except on the rare occasion when William's longing for a father overwhelmed him and he'd snatch up the picture and gaze at it hungrily, all the while hating his weakness.

But now, after almost a whole year had gone by since then, it was Christmas Day, and Aunt Emma would be here soon. Jumping out of bed, William raced through his shower, brushed his teeth and combed his hair (stoically ignoring the little voice in his head that reminded him how much he looked like his father as he grew older). By the time the taxi dropped Aunt Emma off out front, William had finished breakfast and was waiting patiently for her in the front room.

When the doorbell rang, he ran to let his aunt in. Arms full of brightly-wrapped packages, Aunt Emma smiled broadly and wished William "Merry Christmas" after he shyly kissed her cheek. They spent the next hour opening gifts while Christmas carols played softly in the background on William's transistor radio. He was pleased when his aunt exclaimed over the pretty scarf he had saved part of his small allowance to buy her because William thought it would look nice with her red hair.

After William unwrapped the last gift, he neatly stacked them under the Christmas tree, trying not to let his disappointment show. The books and games his aunt brought were nice, but oh, how he'd dreamed about the new bike. Not only had he worked industriously in school to earn straight "A's", William had obediently done his chores every day for months without being prompted. He concluded morosely that Aunt Emma must not have thought he deserved the Tornado. " _William?_ " she asked, " _Don't you like your presents?"_ and smiled knowingly when he nodded dutifully.

Standing, she took his hand and led William through the kitchen and out the door into the back yard. " _Merry Christmas, William,_ " Aunt Emma said with a pleased smile, and waved her hand. Following the motion, his eyes widened and he was overjoyed to see a bicycle with a big red bow-it was a Schwinn Tornado! Impulsively, William threw his arms around his aunt's waist and choked out, " _I love you, Aunt Emma."_ Her hand smoothed back some dark hair that had fallen on his forehead, and William thought his heart would burst with love for her.

" _Well, go take a look at your new bicycle,"_ she urged, and William didn't need to be told twice. Falling on his knees beside the gleaming red and white two wheeler, he couldn't ever remember feeling so happy. At least until after a careful examination, William figured out this actually wasn't the same bike from McCoy's Hardware. Although he tried not to let on, his aunt must have been observing him more closely than he realized.

" _William, is something wrong with the bike?"_ she asked.

And when he shook his head and mumbled, eyes downcast, " _No, Ma'am,"_ she sighed and pulled him to his feet.

" _William, look at me,"_ she requested in a stern, yet not unkind voice. " _There are two things I want you to remember. The first is_ _never_ _lie to me, ever. Have I made myself clear?"_ When he instantly nodded respectfully, her face softened slightly. " _The second is the reason this bike is not the fancy one from the hardware store is because you are not being raised to be better than anyone else. You are a good boy who works hard, but there are many boys and girls who work hard. And in this world, if you are just given extra nice things you haven't earned, you will never appreciate what you have. William, some day, you will be a leader of men and do great things, but not if you aren't willing to work for it. Do you understand? Now, let's put the new bike in the garage and have some of the nice Christmas lunch Mrs. Smith prepared, alright?"_

William would always remember the two important lessons from that Christmas in 1958. He never again lied to Aunt Emma (ever), and he never forgot that he was just like everyone else-nothing special at all. William Logan was just a boy with a dead mother and a father who didn't want him.

 _End Flashback_

End Chapter One.

* * *

 _A/N #1: The idea for this story came out of a conversation my friend Qwerty and I had after the season two finale (can't quite bring myself to even acknowledge yet it was the SERIES finale of our beloved Timeless). Although we agreed that there was NO WAY little miss sleeper agent was pregnant, she and I started tossing around the idea that IF Jessica had conceived a child with Wyatt, she'd probably go away and have the baby in secret and never let Wyatt know, cause that's how RH Jessica rolls. And I guess things just kind of got out of hand after that, lol :p Finally, I want to thank "Q" for being such a joy to collaborate with, and special thanks to all of you for going on this wild journey with us - Gracie._

 _A/N #2: First of all, like Gracie said, Jessica is NOT pregnant. Nope….no way. But as soon as she *said* she was, I started wondering what possible story purpose a pregnancy could serve. I was even a bit nervous that the season two finale might feature an adult child of Wyatt and Jessica appearing out of the Mothership from the future. Luckily, we got future Lyatt from the Lifeboat instead, a much better idea! But like Gracie said, the two of us started talking about it….and talking some more….and then this happened! Huge thank you to Gracie for this-it's so much fun to write together, and we hope you all enjoy-let us know what you think! - Qwertygal_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

Emma paused just outside the back doors of the nondescript white van, automatically scanning her surroundings. "Old habits die hard," the redhead thought wryly, unable to ignore her finely-honed habit of always trying to anticipate any possible threat of danger.

It was time-the moment she'd been working toward for so long was about to come to fruition. Emma allowed herself a tiny shiver of excitement. Once she got in the van and had this _very_ important conversation with William, her plans would finally be set into motion. She inhaled deeply, letting the feeling of satisfaction ( _of triumph, really_ ) wash over her.

Although it had been thirty years for young Mr. Logan, less than two years had passed in Emma's time line since Jessica Logan died in childbirth in 1949. At the very moment a sympathetic delivery nurse had gently placed Wyatt Logan's squalling brat in his "aunt's" arms, a glorious, _devious_ idea had taken ahold of her. Naturally, there had been some sacrifice on her part-that was only to be expected. After all, Emma Whitmore didn't possess a single maternal bone in her body, but not only was this child, Wyatt's son, instrumental to her plans, she had made a promise to the boy's mother...

Emma still recalled the day his mother told her she was pregnant-while she was building a fire in their safe house in 1815, only days after she had killed Carol…and Nicholas. The plan she had hastily concocted had been to lay low for a few months, after having taken multiple trains and transports from where they left the Mothership, so that the lifeboat crew wouldn't follow them. By not jumping, she hoped to confuse, and then lose, the lifeboat crew's focus.

Once that was accomplished, then Emma Whitmore had planned to return to Rittenhouse, like a triumphant conquering hero, to inform them of the treachery in their ranks-that Carol had killed Nicholas to protect her daughter, thereby forcing Emma to kill Carol. Rittenhouse would have begged her to take control, and she would set up Jessica as her second-in-command-the loyal supporter of the cause who had lived for years married to a man she despised…all for Rittenhouse. It had been a good plan. Unfortunately, while sharing the plan with Jessica, once she mentioned they would be spending a few months in the 1815 shack, the younger woman's face had instantly paled. Emma had known _something_ was amiss-but Jessica's reluctant admission was the last thing she had expected. It had initially been a problem, to be sure, but in the end it was only a minor speed bump. They had compromised, staying just a few weeks in the shack before returning Jessica to running water and modern medicine. But those few weeks had still a long enough jump that the Lifeboat hadn't immediately begun tracking them. Through a well-placed Rittenhouse operative, Emma had later learned that it was because the Lifeboat crew had somehow found a way to reverse the Rufus situation.

Cautiously opening the door and climbing into the van, Emma frowned slightly, watching as William swiveled the surveillance camera to get a better view of the room deep within the military installation. Despite her fearsome reputation, Emma wasn't a complete monster, and was actually somewhat relieved when she realized Rufus was once again alive in the timeline. She did like Rufus, and hated that she had killed him. Truth be told, she'd been aiming for Wyatt. She grimaced then, pulling her attention back to William, shaking her head in wonder once again at the physical similarities between the boy and his father.

So she'd modified her grand plan to accommodate Jessica's pregnancy. Surprisingly enough, though, when she and Jessica finally returned to Rittenhouse, things still went just as she had predicted. The 'bitch with the time machine' was almost immediately named the new Rittenhouse leader by the remaining members of the organization, and Emma quickly placed Jessica as her second-in-command. She'd even found an obstetrician within the Rittenhouse ranks who was willing to care for her and keep his mouth shut about it. Because a baby not fathered by Rittenhouse? Well, Emma wasn't prepared to put her new plans of non-blood inheritance of the group to the test at this stage of the game. There were still enough old-guard members who were patently uneasy with the idea that Emma herself wasn't from official bloodlines to ask them to accept Jessica's non-Rittenhouse blood baby-at least not yet.

A crackling from the speaker brought her attention back to the present.

"How are you doing?" She asked when he looked up from the computer monitor.

"Okay, Aunt Emma-I mean, Emma," William replied apologetically.

Overlooking the unintentional slip up, she gave him a tiny smile of encouragement. "You'll get there-if you're going to take over Rittenhouse operations, be my second in command, then you need to just call me Emma."

Nodding hesitantly, he turned the dial, clearing their reception from the static feedback before noting, "There's more people in the room now."

She grimaced. "Ceremony will start soon." She shook her head. "Princess Lucy and her boy toys getting medals-nonsense like this is what's wrong with the establishment and why Rittenhouse is so important. You understand that, right?"

He sat up straighter in response, and turning the camera again to focus on the stage at the front of the room, mentioned over his shoulder, "Did you know they were getting married?"

Emma raised an eyebrow-she didn't need to ask to whom he was referring….but she was curious what his reaction would be nonetheless, so she decided to play along.

"Your father and Lucy Preston?" She asked casually, secretly gratified by the slight flinch William was unable to completely hide at the word 'father.' Pressing her advantage, she continued, "Of course, I'm using the word 'father' in the broadest sense of the word, really...we both know Wyatt Logan washed his hands years ago of that title and everything that goes with it…"

Her poisonous little dart was thrown off course when the intended target abruptly growled a warning (to her surprise, sounding almost exactly like said parent), "Enough, Emma." _Well, perhaps Wyatt's son was more like him than she realized-had more in common with his father than just physical looks._

Prudently holding her tongue for the time being, Emma watched as William became more comfortable working the surveillance equipment. She shook her head when she noted he continued to write his notes by hand, rather than using the tablet she had provided him. Somehow, he had grown into a man. But she would still always see him as that little boy who idolized her, a child who hung on her every word as she talked about Rittenhouse. She was proud of the man he had become-the skills he had learned with her guidance-and that he was already far closer than he knew to being ready to take up the reigns of Rittenhouse leadership. And it was just in time, too. The Rittenhouse hierarchy was becoming restless with Emma, and she knew it.

William glanced up at her, sending her a small smile that, in spite of his startling overall resemblance to his father, rather reminded her of Jessica. Unfortunately, once Emma had taken control, her efforts to lead Rittenhouse toward the enlightenment of membership by merit over blood had gone much more slowly than she had anticipated.

Even more worrisome, as the first few months of her tenure at the top passed, some of the more 'conservative' members (" _bunch of stubborn old men, every last one of them,"_ she thought scornfully) started to question Emma's abilities based only on her gender…and alarmingly, that of her second in command. She'd been able to silence the voices of dissent for a while, and they were lucky that Jessica had been one of those women who managed not to 'show' for months-but eventually, Emma had realized a decision needed to be made. The expectant mother hiding her condition in baggy clothes was no longer going to fool anyone, not even the most out-of-touch of the Rittenhouse leadership.

Emma was frustratingly aware there was no way the organization's faithful were ready to accept a child with no true Rittenhouse blood-and only a tenuous tie to Rittenhouse history through its mother's role as a sleeper agent. And if the high-ranking leadership couldn't accept the child, well then, they would no longer accept the mother. And that, Emma knew, could shake their faith in _her_ as a leader as well, and she couldn't allow that-she had worked diligently and sacrificed for too many years to give up now. There had been a discussion with Jessica about paying off a younger Rittenhouse member of strong family lines to claim the child, but strangely, Jessica refused to entertain the idea. So, Emma had made the only sensible decision, luckily, one the mother-to-be agreed to-travel back in time to some place safe, where she could give birth and raise the child away from Rittenhouse. Jessica could return to the present when she was ready, when the child was ready...and when Rittenhouse was ready.

Of course, things had yet again not gone exactly to plan.

"Au-Emma," William asked, tearing Emma away from her memories, "Can you tell me now what the information Rittenhouse needs from all this….what the point of all this is?"

She sighed. "The three people in that room….your _father_ , and the two others receiving medals, are a threat to Rittenhouse." She didn't miss the way he tightened his fist around the camera control at the word _father_. "You know this." She waited while he contemplated this new information.

Eventually, he nodded.

"Good. So therefore, any and all information we can gather about them is important."

He was silent again after that, seemingly studying the monitor with renewed interest.

Once she was confident he wasn't going to ask more, Emma shifted on the floor of the van to be more comfortable. William was smart-there was no denying that. So she knew he wasn't buying that the whole purpose of his current mission was just to gather intel. She watched his face carefully, as he chewed on his lower lip and recentered the camera yet again. And she also knew that, given his reaction to seeing his father for the first time beyond that one photograph, he wasn't ready to hear the rest of the plan. He wasn't ready to hear about the actual test that Rittenhouse had assigned for him. She was confident he _would_ be ready very soon….but not yet.

Emma shifted again, so that she could see the monitor that held William's attention. Then her gaze wandered back to him. Yes, she was right to be cautious with this because it was an important moment in William's life-an important moment in her plans-and she wouldn't have it derailed by a boy's…a _man's_ wistfulness for a father. All that Jessica Logan had ever wanted was for her child to be raised within Rittenhouse. But Emma had dared to want so much more for the child Wyatt Logan didn't even know existed. She had raised Jessica Logan's son to _lead_ Rittenhouse.

* * *

 _Flashback_

The remaining few months of Jessica's pregnancy had passed quickly (at least for Emma). They'd considered several different eras in which the baby could be born, and together had decided the late 1940's would probably be most suitable. A young widow raising a child by herself was fairly commonplace during the post WWII years, and hopefully, their sudden presence in a rural community wouldn't raise too much suspicion. Since it mattered little to her, Emma allowed Jessica to have a say in where her child would be born, and somewhat surprisingly, the blonde chose an area in the Midwest where her maternal great-grandparents had resided around the turn of the 20th century.

Once the expectant mom (and faux war widow) was settled in the small town located in east central Indiana called Liberty (population around 1,700), Emma spent most of her time in the present, trying to placate the patriarchally-obsessed members of Rittenhouse who were continually less than satisfied with a female in the top spot, especially one lacking even the slimmest of blood ties to the organization.

Despite days and sometimes weeks going by in between her visits to the past, Jessica seemed oddly content whenever Emma saw her. So much so, Emma became concerned at the possibility that pregnancy had softened Jessica's attitude towards her husband. However, just when Emma was prepared to squash any unwelcome sentimental feelings the mother-to-be might be developing for the father of her baby, Jessica herself fortunately cleared up any lingering doubts her older friend might be entertaining during her Christmas visit.

For once, things were going fairly smoothly in the present ( _maybe the old bastards were too full of the Christmas spirit to give her grief,_ Emma mused dryly), and the two women were enjoying a relaxing day, even discussing baby names. (William James for a boy and Margaret Ann if the baby was a girl were the frontrunners today.) In a rare burst of generosity, Emma had gifted the baby with a complete layette that Jessica seemed delighted with, expressing her gratitude for the thoughtful gesture as she gently examined each tiny garment.

After enjoying the simple meal that Jessica prepared, Emma broached the subject of the baby's father as diplomatically as she could manage, and was relieved when her pregnant friend caught on instantly, firmly assuring her that Wyatt Logan was completely out of the picture.

Sitting at the kitchen table absently rubbing circles around her good-size belly, Jessica mused thoughtfully, " _You know, when my mission was activated, I was all prepared for him to be crazy happy to see me, probably be super clingy and smothering, but that's not what went down at all. Look, it's not easy for me to admit this, but it was obvious from the second I saw them together, my dear husband is in love with your favorite Rittenhouse princess. And, damn, but little miss perfect is definitely head over heels, too-poor girl's got it bad for Mr. Delta Force. Jesus, Emma, it was kind of an unpleasant surprise, though, and not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but Carol could have warned me that the two of them were involved when I was getting prepped for the final stage of my mission,"_ she complained rather petulantly.

" _Maybe she didn't think it was important information,"_ Emma shrugged.

" _Wouldn't you think I might need that kind of information? Personally, I think Dr. P. was in denial that_ _her_ _precious daughter would ever lower herself by falling for someone her mother considered beneath their 'Rittenhouse royalty' family,"_ Jessica sneered. " _Anyway, you guys should be grateful Wyatt Logan and Lucy Preston were both trying so hard to 'do the right thing' that they nearly destroyed their relationship all by themselves. I really didn't have to interfere much at all. That being said, now that I'm the enemy, though, I have no doubt my husband and his lover are probably back together by now, and if Wyatt has the slightest hint he really is going to be a father, there's no way in hell we can risk him-and no doubt Lucy Preston also-getting their hands on this baby. I want my child to be raised Rittenhouse, just like I was."_

Emma was intrigued, but when pressed for additional details, all Jessica would offer was that when the two of them split off in different directions after the bar shoot-out in 1888 Chinatown, Wyatt had chased Jessica down and begged her to renounce Rittenhouse and return to 2018 with him so they could be a proper family. She had laughed at the memory, and then told Emma she had shut that down in a hurry. Jessica bragged that she knew her husband well enough to recognize the pain and disappointment on his face after she refused his plea, too, and had no qualms about using that emotion against the man. Luckily, a few weeks later, when she encountered Wyatt once more during a mission, Jessica reported she'd taken the thing a step further. All it took were a few very convincing lies that she had miscarried the baby to seal the deal-Wyatt Logan wouldn't be interfering with her raising their baby Rittenhouse.

Jessica was adamant that Wyatt had no idea his child was due to be born in a few weeks, and a satisfied Emma believed her. Good. One less obstacle in their way as far as she was concerned. Although, as was usually the case since the sleeper agent had been activated, Emma found the younger woman's poorly-concealed jealousy of Lucy Preston both amusing and vaguely annoying. Jessica's feelings blinded her to the fact that it was very much to Rittenhouse's advantage that the Master Sergeant and his historian were supposedly 'in love' with each other. Love made people vulnerable...made them weak and stupid, and as a result, much easier to manipulate.

And while Emma sensed that Jessica Logan was genuinely mystified by Wyatt Logan's strong attachment to a woman who was so different from herself, it was of no concern to Emma as long as her second in command didn't let the situation distract her from their long-range plans.

Changing the subject, they began discussing a few new developments in 2018 before Emma went home. As it turned out, that was the last lengthy conversation the two women had. Just after the new year, Emma arrived for a visit to find Jessica's labor had begun hours before, a few weeks before her due date, and no sooner had they arrived at the hospital nearly thirty miles away, then Jessica was whisked away by a stern-looking nurse while her "sister" was banished to a waiting room inhabited by chain-smoking, nervous fathers to be.

That was the last time Emma had seen her alive. Within hours of giving birth to a small but healthy son with deep blue eyes and a full head of dark hair, Jessica developed chills and a high fever. Before little William James Logan was even 48 hours old, his mother succumbed to a virulent infection inadvertently picked up during delivery, one shockingly resistant to the standard (but ineffective) medication the rural hospital had on hand.

Standing in front of the spotless glass windows of the hospital nursery gazing at the newborn, Emma paid scant attention to murmured condolences from the white-haired obstetrician who delivered the infant. Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to use this (while admittedly sad) unexpected yet fortuitous turn of events to her advantage. Maybe it was heartless, but Emma couldn't help but be relieved the child was a male. That would make everything so much easier…

 _End Flashback_

* * *

Emma shook her head. Two years ago…and yet it seemed like a lifetime. Her eyes snapped back toward William, still working intently at his station. She smirked tightly. Because it _was_ a lifetime for some. Even at the sight of this full-grown man in front of her, she still couldn't help but remember William as a young child-a little boy in awe of his aunt, a little boy who would do anything to please her. The good news? The man wasn't so different.

After William's birth, Emma had intentionally kept him in the past-raised by a foster family of Rittenhouse blood. She hadn't replaced Jessica within the Rittenhouse hierarchy-she didn't trust anyone else that close to her, didn't trust anyone she couldn't inherently control. Unfortunately, one fewer woman at the top hadn't eased the minds of the more conservative members-they didn't like the fact that there was still _one_ woman in charge. They allowed her to continue in her position of leadership….but she knew that was only because….well, because she piloted a freakin' time machine.

Predictably, Rittenhouse membership had begun pressing for more Mothership pilots to be trained. Naturally, most were inept, lacking the keen intelligence necessary for the job. Those few who had shown traces of talent? So far, every single pilot who appeared promising had unfortunately been met with a fatal accident. But Emma knew she couldn't keep this up. Sooner or later, the leadership was going to insist that she step down in favor of someone new. One more in line with the group's glaringly misogynistic ideals. Someone with a 'Y' chromosome.

Yes indeed...Emma Whitmore was _damn_ lucky that Jessica and Wyatt Logan's child had been a male.

End Chapter Two

* * *

 _A/N #1: And so the plot thickens, Timeless friends :p (insert evil laughter) Sincere thanks for spending some time with Qwerty and me-we truly appreciate your support, and promise we have lots more 'twisty' things planned for upcoming chapters. Special shout out to my co-author, who has been a dream to work with :)) - Gracie_

 _A/N #2: Thank you all so much for reading! I don't know that I've written Emma pov before, so it's been a great experience getting to work on this and create her voice with you Gracie-absolutely love crafting this together. And hang on to your hats dear readers….we still have some surprises in store!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello everyone, I'm going to be away for the next two weeks, with limited internet and even more limited computer availability, so there will be a short delay in posting the next chapter-chapter four will probably be posted in early August. Hope everyone enjoys the HeliClockters tomorrow - and that you enjoy the next chapter of this tale!_

* * *

Chapter Three

Normally he hated these kinds of affairs-the stuffed shirts, the disingenuous offers of congratulations. The hand-shaking, the speeches. These types of things just served to remind him that he wasn't doing anybody any good here, that he needed to get back at it again-back on a mission. Usually Wyatt could barely stand still at times such as this-filled with a nervous energy brought on by his brain telling him he needed to be doing something, somewhere…anywhere but a medal ceremony.

That was normally the way he felt about these things. But not today. Today, Wyatt's team-his friends, _his family_ -was being given the Army Achievement Award for Civilian Service. And there was nowhere else he'd rather be. He flashed Lucy a proud grin as she took her place at the front of the room. She grimaced back. Wyatt wondered if she had any idea how adorable she was when she was nervous. It had been only five minutes previously that the three of them had been alone in the room-the original time team (as Rufus had dubbed them years ago), just like old times, he mused. But soon the brass had entered, followed by the small number of guests they'd been allowed, given the top-secret nature of their medals. Mason, Jiya, Agent Christopher. He supposed the NSA agent was more nominee than guest, but he was glad she was here. Flynn had declined. Well, probably more like the military base wasn't willing to extend an invite to someone who was officially on the books as a known terrorist (and prison escapee).

"You know, you should be up there, too." Denise Christopher's voice came from behind him.

"Pretty sure the triple ACS is only for civilians, ma'am," he reminded her.

She drew alongside his shoulder now, and he saw her shake her head.

"You know what I mean," she admonished dryly, "You deserve to be honored for your part as well."

Wyatt craned his neck as Lucy and Rufus disappeared from his view behind a group of officers. He supposed they were going over the presentation before starting things officially. No longer able to see his team, he glanced at Christopher.

"I appreciate you think that. But I appreciate even more that you respected my wishes and didn't act on that thought."

She chuckled lightly. "Well, I figured if we tried to force the medal on you, you just wouldn't show up. And I know you wouldn't want to miss seeing this moment for Lucy and Rufus."

He nodded agreeably. "Yes, ma'am." He looked back toward the front of the room, where Lucy and Rufus were being ushered into uncomfortable-looking chairs.

She chuckled again.

The response surprised him, so he returned his gaze to her. "Ma'am?"

"It didn't sit right with me, you know-not including your name on the nominations listing. I know you don't like medals, or any kind of fuss, for that matter, but you do deserve to be recognized for all you've done, all you continue to do. Those two," she motioned with her chin toward Rufus and Lucy, "They're only a team because of you."

He shrugged modestly, dropping his gaze. "I think I'm only a member of a team because of them."

With an understanding smile, the NSA agent countered, "True, their ferocious defense of you when Patrick Ramsey wanted to kick you to the curb was wonderful to see. Doesn't change the facts, though. The combined _team_ efforts of you and Lucy and Rufus have dealt a massive blow to Rittenhouse over the past two years."

He shook his head quickly, cautioning, "All due respect, ma'am, but Rittenhouse isn't done-they've just gone quiet, re-grouping."

"I know," she admitted softly. "But Rittenhouse going silent for four months? No jumps, no attacks? You have to admit it's an improvement from where we were."

"What? You don't miss the bunker?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why, do you?"

He shrugged. "The newest place isn't exactly private, you know. At least not with the two NSA agents staring at the windows and doors 24/7."

She sighed. "I understand you're irritated I put a guard on your apartment, but it's still better than the alternative of another government facility, wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, the bathroom's cleaner," he allowed, with one of his trademark smirks.

"Looks like they're about to get started-Connor and Jiya have a seat for you. _I'm_ the lucky one that gets to sit at the front."

He nodded absently, catching Lucy's eye again at the front of the room, and motioning for her to smile. She complied. Sort of.

"One more thing, Master Sergeant."

He looked back at Agent Christopher, surprised to see her still there.

"I meant what I said just now-that you deserve to be recognized for the work you're doing. More than merely recognized, actually, but we both know government pay still sucks, big time.

He was about to cut her off with a quick thanks again, hoping to move off of the topic all together, but she continued on, ignoring his attempt to derail her.

"And I know you didn't want the medal. So, I met with the base CO, and we came up with something else." She held out the manilla envelope she'd been holding at her side. "And don't worry-I've told them no ceremony is necessary for this, either, so you can take that objection and shove it."

He cautiously accepted the envelope from her.

She smiled smugly. "It's not going to bite you, Wyatt. Well," she glanced toward the front of the room, "Guess we better get this show on the road. Congratulations, Wyatt-and let me know if you ever do want one of these fancy shindigs," she motioned lightly around the room, "You do clean up well, after all."

And then she was off.

Wyatt stared at the envelope for a beat, then gently ripped open the flap. He recognized the military letterhead immediately, and scanned the first few lines.

And nearly dropped the envelope. He snapped his head upward again, searching for Christopher, but she was already at the front of the room, and her back was to him.

Lucy caught his eye, mouthing 'what?', clearly noticing the stunned expression on his face.

He smiled back reassuringly, and motioned again for her to smile. When she complied-a real smile, this time-he dropped his gaze back to the letter and the startling information it contained.

He'd been promoted. To _Command Sergeant Major? A Senior Advisor NSA position_? The hell? But there was no time for Wyatt to even begin to process this new turn of events because the ceremony was starting, so he rushed to take his seat beside Jiya.

There was the usual pomp and solemn gravity of it all-the speeches, the words of thanks and admiration-but Wyatt had been hardly able to take any of it in. And with all apologies to Rufus, it was because he couldn't take his eyes off _her_.

Because…how had they even gotten here? How had he ever become lucky enough to even call the two of them a 'they'? It hadn't been easy, those first months after Jessica's betrayal-the two of them dealing with the repercussions of his wife's lies, the deception she had pulled off right under their very noses. Not that the issues between _them_ had been all Jessica's fault. They had both been more than capable of sabotaging the fleeting happiness they had found in 1941 Hollywood. But after what happened with Rufus and the insanity of bringing him back with the help of their future selves, slowly, but surely, he and Lucy had been able to rebuild.

And now? He pulled his attention back to the ceremony at the front of the room, just as a somber upper brass representative was pinning Lucy's medal on. The slight amount of sunlight forcing its way through the too-small windows at the side of the room glinted against the dull gold sheen of the medal. Technically, Wyatt knew the medal was awarded to non-military personnel for courage or competence in an emergency (and if time traveling while taking down an evil secret organization didn't qualify, he had no idea what did); in essence, for bravery, for honor.

Yet to him, it would always represent a medal of rescue, of renewal. Because Lucy had rescued him in so many ways. Rescued him from loneliness, rescued him from guilt. Not just over Jessica, but over so much more…an image pushed its way into his head, an image of a not-so-different medal he'd been forced to accept. Not so many years ago, yet it seemed like a lifetime. He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to think of that-not today-not when his team was alive and well and being honored. Wyatt opened his eyes and caught a faint glimmer of light again as the sun seemed to be doing its damndest to lighten his soul. But it wasn't the medal that was sending the sunshine in his direction this time. This time, the light was glinting off the new piece of jewelry that she wore-the ring on her left hand.

He smiled, briefly watching the play of light against the delicate, but oh-so-Lucy ring. He brought his eyes upward to find that she was staring at him, a knowing grin on her face.

His face warmed at being openly caught daydreaming, but Lucy merely nodded at him, and they both simultaneously pulled their gazes toward Rufus, who was now stepping forward to accept his award.

She must be crazy, Wyatt mused, agreeing to marry _him_ of all people. It had been a perfect evening in a perfect place-less than a week ago-when, his heart beating so fast he was half dizzy, he had asked Lucy if she would do him the honor of being his wife. He could still remember the way his chest constricted at the look of pure joy on her beautiful face before she had thrown herself at him-nearly hugging the air right out of him. And Wyatt's chest still felt tight, all these days later at the memory, though he suspected that had more to do with the way his heart filled with love and gratitude for her enthusiastic, resounding ' _yes_ ' than of any physical memory of that hug…

 _Flashback_

Two solid weeks of planning and research had gone into what Rufus had affectionately nicknamed the "Put A Ring On It" project. Wyatt was amused at the moniker, but privately thought they should call the whole endeavor, "Please, God, Let Her Say Yes," because he couldn't bear the idea that Lucy would turn him down. After everything they'd endured to get to this moment in their lives, he and Lucy were as close as a couple could be, both physically and emotionally, and when Wyatt woke most mornings with her nestled safely in his arms, his heart was filled with humble gratitude at the knowledge that she loved and wanted _him_. Lord knows he didn't deserve her _or_ her forgiveness for all the mistakes he'd made, but Wyatt was just selfish enough to want Lucy Preston as his wife and the mother of his children, to belong to him alone for the rest of their lives.

Wyatt hadn't originally planned on his proposal being a time team affair, but after Rufus had busted him looking at rings on the internet…there was no going back. And honestly, he had no idea how he could have pulled it off without them. After all, Wyatt had considered, and just as quickly discarded, several possibilities for the perfect place he might ask Lucy to marry him, but in the end, it had been Jiya who came up with just the right setting. One day while Lucy had been occupied with a dentist appointment, she, Rufus, and Wyatt had been tossing ideas back and forth over lunch at their apartment when the men had started reminiscing about the mission to 1941, and Jiya's face had suddenly lit up.

"You guys, that's it-the perfect idea!" she exclaimed, her dark eyes shining with excitement. "You should take her back to 1941 Hollywood, the time and place where you first really got together," and because the younger woman never passed up a chance to tease him, she just had to take it to the next level, and helpfully clarified, "And by 'together' of course, I mean, you know, got busy, made love, slept together, made the beast with two backs, had sex…" Rufus had immediately burst into loud cackles, greatly amused by his girlfriend's typical blunt manner-meanwhile, poor Wyatt thought he might have steam coming out of his ears, he was blushing so hard.

"Jiya," he protested uneasily, "Be cool, alright?" His friends just laughed at Wyatt's discomfort, although Jiya did pat his shoulder sympathetically before going in search of her laptop to read up on 1940's Hollywood. A few hours later, she had put together a list of popular nightclubs and restaurants of the time period for Wyatt to choose from while he resumed browsing online for an engagement ring. He was pretty sure he knew the type of ring Lucy would prefer, and after narrowing it down to the three he liked best, called in feminine reinforcements.

Wyatt was both amused and touched by the serious, thoughtful way Jiya and Agent Christopher examined the vintage engagement rings he'd chosen, spending nearly an hour discussing the merits of each one and whether it would suit Lucy's personality and preferences. Finally, the two women were able to agree on the ring they liked best, and he was happy to see it was his favorite also. Wyatt thought the slim platinum band with five diamond chips set on either side of a one-carat diamond would look exactly right on Lucy's slender hand.

Once the time and place (and most importantly, the ring) were lined up, all they had to do was get there. With Connor's consent, and after obtaining permission from Agent Christopher (Wyatt cringed at the very thought of another 'unauthorized' trip in the lifeboat), the trio managed to coax an unsuspecting Lucy into the lifeboat under the guise of gathering intel on a secret Rittenhouse meeting that was to take place in mid-November 1940 in Hollywood. Although he noticed the slight twinge on Lucy's face at hearing the year and location, Wyatt told himself she'd be fine once everything was revealed (at least, he hoped so).

He also told himself once everything was revealed she'd be fine with the bogus story they'd concocted about the Rittenhouse meeting being the next morning at an Italian Villa Mansion on Pamela Street in Beverly Hills. After two hours of 'staking out the place', Lucy had shrugged and agreed with him and Rufus there was probably nothing left to do until the next day. But precisely as planned, Jiya wouldn't hear of it.

"Nope-not gonna happen," she had said, shaking her head, "Look at where- _when_ -we are: Hollywood's Golden Age, for pete's sake. We are gonna enjoy it-and I don't want to hear another word about it!" she had announced to the group. Wyatt could still remember the way his heart caught in his throat when he immediately looked at Lucy for her response. All their efforts would be for nothing if she felt the danger of affecting the time line was too great and refused. For a brief moment, she had actually looked like she was about to object, but luckily, her face softened at Jiya's eager expression, and Lucy agreed that maybe the 'space-time continuum' wouldn't be irrevocably damaged just because the four of them had some fun. And Wyatt had started breathing again.

Amazingly, the two couples had been able to jimmy a lock and break into the same wardrobe department at Paramount Studios as before, and once properly attired, found a car on the backlot for Rufus to hotwire. Before climbing in the front seat beside Rufus, Wyatt hung back to discreetly make sure he had the ring box in his pocket, and minutes later, they were riding along the famous Sunset "Strip," pointing out the sights to a wide-eyed Jiya. Pulling up in front of Ciro's, a nightclub patronized by everyone who was anyone at that time (according to Jiya), Rufus nonchalantly tossed the keys to a waiting valet before offering his arm to his properly-impressed girlfriend and leading her inside.

Wyatt and Lucy looked at each and smiled. "Shall we, Professor?" he asked, gallantly extending his arm.

Dark eyes twinkling, Lucy tucked her small hand around his upper arm and answered, "We shall, Master Sergeant," and arm in arm, they followed their friends. Although Wyatt was slightly nervous about being turned away at the door, Rufus easily managed to not only snag them a table near the live band by adopting his 'Langston Hughes' persona, but within minutes of being seated, an efficient waiter was pouring complimentary champagne. Wyatt shook his head in wonder at his friend.

After they listened to a couple of songs, an excited Jiya jumped up, and grabbing her boyfriend's hand, dragged Rufus out on the dance floor. Scooting his chair closer to Lucy, Wyatt took her hand and bringing it to his lips, pressed a soft kiss to her palm. "You look so beautiful tonight, Dr. Preston, but then, you're always beautiful to me," he whispered, gratified at the tiny shiver she couldn't contain.

"Looking pretty handsome yourself, Mr. Logan," she managed with a shy smile, running a slim finger down the lapel of his tux. They sat sipping champagne, amusing themselves by seeing how many celebrities they knew. Jiya's meticulous research was, as usual, spot on, because this place was packed with famous people. George Burns and Gracie Allen were sitting with Jack Benny on one side of them, with Ginger Rogers and Betty Grable on the other, while Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart held court at a big, noisy table across the room. It was fun to watch a starstruck Lucy's face light up each time she saw someone she recognized.

"Wyatt, look, there's Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney," Lucy pointed out breathlessly. "She's one of my favorite singers. Remember the song I sang at the Hearst mansion? She made that famous when she was just a teen, although weirdly enough, it was meant as a sort of musical declaration to Clark Gable, who was practically king of the box office at the time."

That little piece of trivia gave Wyatt an idea. So far, the evening was going really well, but he had yet to figure out just the right moment to propose. Leaning in and kissing Lucy's soft cheek, he excused himself. Wyatt returned to the table to find his favorite historian discussing the finer points of Hollywood nightclub culture with Rufus and Jiya. Lucy had looked at him questioningly, but he had just winked and given her a lazy smirk. Not long after he had sat down, the band leader stepped up to the microphone and asked for everyone's attention. Once the room had quieted down, he announced a special treat: An impromptu performance by one of Hollywood's brightest young stars, Miss Judy Garland.

At Lucy's surprised gasp, Wyatt took her hand in his, pleased at her reaction. Enthusiastic applause filled the room when a spotlight found the blushing teen and followed her as she walked up to the bandstand. Turning toward the band, she whispered something to the band leader before standing in front of the microphone wearing a shy smile.

"Thank you so much. Good evening, everyone. Just a couple minutes ago, I was approached by a nice fella who told me that his girlfriend was a big fan of mine...and then he very politely asked if I could possibly sing a song for her. Now, I usually don't take requests like this, but he assured me it was a very special occasion, and well, he was so sincere and good-looking, too, I just couldn't refuse. Anyway, this song is for Lucy from Wyatt," and then the young singer's magnificent voice began to fill the room.

"Wyatt?" Lucy asked softly, her hand clasping his tightly, "Did you ask _the_ Judy Garland to sing a song just for me?" At his shy nod, Lucy pulled him toward her and breathed near his ear, "Thank you, I love it." Wyatt smiled, powerless to take his eyes from Lucy as the familiar words washed over them. " _You made me love you, I didn't wanna do it, I didn't wanna do it…"._

Wyatt wondered if he'd truly lost his mind….asking the most important question of his whole life in front of all these strangers….but one look at Lucy's face, engrossed in Garland's performance and shining with happiness, and he knew he'd made the right decision. Now if he could just get through this without making a mess of things.

Once the last notes of the song faded, the spotlight moved away from the band and Judy Garland to shine directly over their table-and that was his cue. Dimly, he heard Rufus murmur, "You got this, man," before Wyatt slipped from his chair and down on one knee in a single graceful motion while pulling the ring box from his pocket. With a trembling hand, he popped the box open, and swallowing hard, Wyatt looked up at Lucy, his heart, his very soul, shining in his eyes, and in a husky voice, asked if she would do him the honor of being his wife. All around them, the entire club was so quiet, it seemed as if everyone was holding their collective breaths.

For the length of a heartbeat, Lucy only stared at Wyatt, unmoving but for a single tear that slipped down her cheek, and he had never been more frightened in his entire life. But then a look of pure joy spread across her face, and suddenly, Lucy flung herself at him, trembling and whispering fiercely, " _Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes, I will be your wife,"_ and Wyatt thought his heart would burst with happiness.

Hugging Wyatt so tightly he could scarcely breathe, Lucy whispered in his ear, " _I love you, Wyatt Logan,"_ before leaning back long to give him a kiss he would never forget. By the time they came up for air, his hands were shaking so bad, he had a little trouble slipping the ring on her finger. Wyatt was so relieved, he barely heard the cheers and whistles that erupted around them as the club's patrons applauded enthusiastically. The rest of the evening passed in a happy daze...Lucy Preston had just agreed to _marry_ him...

 _End Flashback_

She wanted to marry _him_.

She wanted to build a life with _him_.

And what had Wyatt Logan ever done to deserve something like that?

The small audience burst into applause as the medal ceremony concluded, and he followed suit. Observing Lucy, Rufus-his team-once more shaking hands with some very important people, and then seeing Lucy throw her arms around Agent Christopher...Maybe, just maybe, he could start to understand how he had found himself here.

They'd decided the necessarily private marriage ceremony would be only a month from now-after three plus years of time-travelling, both were unwilling to wait-unwilling to let something as nebulous and mutable as time stand in the way of their life together. They all knew that the current lull in Rittenhouse activity was only a brief respite in their crazy lives. But, with any luck, it would continue until after the wedding.

The medal ceremony over, Lucy was walking back toward him now, meeting his eyes and giving Wyatt a shy smile-a smile he suspected was more due to the relief of the ceremony being through than anything else-yet all he could see was love. Her love for him-his love for her mirrored back at him. Lucy Preston. Soon to be his _wife_. He shook his head in wonderment, returning her smile, his heart filling again as a new image filled his mind-an image of the two of them, and a baby…a family. Then she was there, wrapping her arms tightly around him-until Rufus scoffed, "Get a room, guys."

"Shush," Jiya chided, throwing her arms around her boyfriend, then turning to embrace Lucy.

The image of that family crystalized in Wyatt's mind's eye again, then wavered ever-so-slightly as another, less welcome, thought entered his brain. Jessica's baby. His baby. The pregnancy everyone presumed to have been a lie, but a child that he had known to be real. Because, no matter what, he had still known her, still known Jessica, and she wouldn't have lied about something important like that-not like that.

Two years earlier-just after they had brought Rufus home, and not long after he had signed and filed the divorce papers she had left behind in the bunker, he had seen her again. Jessica, his soon-to-be ex wife. He had encountered her in the past while staring down the business end of her period-appropriate Colt revolver. It had been months in their time since she and Emma had joined forces to seemingly rule Rittenhouse. But he hadn't even really been aware of the gun pointed at him. Not then. All he had seen, been aware of, was his wife's slim figure in close-fitting clothes, looking as thin as he'd ever seen her. The truth hit him then, right between the eyes-Jessica had not been pregnant, had never been carrying his child.

"It was all a lie, after all?" he had asked her, hating how the faint tremor in his voice betrayed him.

"A lie?" she had asked quizzically, the gun dropping infinitesimally in her grip.

"The baby," he clarified, the word nearly choking him.

She stared at him, her face unreadable for a moment. Then she lowered the revolver. "No," she said, her gaze dropping to her shoes. "I...I lost our baby…a few months ago. The doctor….the Rittenhouse doctor….he thought maybe the time travelling…" her voice had trailed off, suddenly seeming small.

"Jess..."

She shook her head quickly, meeting his gaze again-face set and frigid eyes. "Get out of here, Wyatt."

"What?"

"Get. Out. Of. Here." she determinedly brought the revolver back up to the level of his chest, but he had known her heart wasn't in it.

"I'm sorry, Jess," he whispered, turning and moving away from her toward the warehouse in this dusty time where he knew his team was waiting for him. She had spoken then, and he paused, refusing to turn back and meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry, too, Wyatt." And her whispered words were as loud as a shout.

Wyatt had nodded, almost imperceptibly, though he knew she had understood, and then he left, his heart breaking into pieces, walking back to meet up with the only people in the world who he could trust to help him start rebuilding his heart again.

Now, all these years had passed-and yet that had been the last time he had ever seen her, the last time he had ever seen Jessica. And Wyatt had been torn between relief that his ex-wife was probably no longer a danger to those he cared for, and vague, unavoidable grief that the reason he never saw her again was that she was most likely dead after all this time.

"Wyatt? Everything okay?" Lucy's soft question interrupted his somber musings. Glancing down and seeing the concern on her face, Wyatt felt guilty as hell for letting thoughts of Jessica intrude on this special occasion. He was building a future with Lucy, and it was well past time to let his ex-wife go. For one reason or another, she was out of his life for good, and he needed to start living his life that way...

* * *

 _A/N #1: I have to be honest, once we decided that Wyatt was going to pop the question in 1940's Hollywood, Qwerty and I had so much fun researching the era (probably too much fun). Lucy's engagement ring is real also and just beautiful. Thanks to all of you for sticking with us :) I promise we have some really cool twists planned for future chapters, once we get all this set-up stuff out of the way. Huge thanks to Q for her infinite patience with me when I get carried away (happens frequently, trust me)...it's a pleasure to work with you, my friend :))_

 _A/N #2: I still say it's not possible to get TOO carried away when talking about a Lyatt engagement story! Thank you to Gracie for being so amazing to work with-and thank you to the readers! Hope to see you all back for the next chapter in two weeks!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N #1: Content Alert-the flashback that appears approximately half-way through this chapter contains descriptions of domestic violence. Both the start and end of the flashback are labeled, so you can skip if you prefer._

* * *

Chapter Four

Emma poured herself a generous glass of wine while waiting for William to come downstairs for dinner. Wandering around the drawing room as she sipped, the preoccupied redhead paid scant attention to her opulent but understated surroundings, well accustomed to such luxury after living in the mansion, one of the Hearst family's lesser estates, for the past year.

Since Princess Lucy and her infuriating band of misfits had somehow managed to ferret out and destroy two Rittenhouse headquarters during the first year alone of Emma's tenure at the top of the organization, she finally decided it might be better to move operations out of San Francisco and any type of industrial facility. Although notoriously tight-fisted, most of the older, well-established Rittenhouse families boasted deep pockets, something Emma took full advantage of when seeking a place outside the city, somewhere more private, isolated even.

Her lips curved in a faintly triumphant smile as she recalled private negotiations with the current CEO of Hearst Communications, who'd been reluctant at first to financially assist the organization that had made his company one of the wealthiest in America for over a century. Funny how quickly the man's attitude had changed when presented with video and audio proof of his most recent "indiscretion." ( _I guess it takes all kinds,_ she mused, with a faint shudder.) The new Rittenhouse headquarters was reassuringly secluded, yet less than a half hour from the city by the bay ( _even less with a time machine_ ), and quite frankly, a real pleasure to live in, especially to someone who endured ten years in a rustic, one-room shack in the barbaric 1880's wild west.

Of course, if Emma had been able to get her hands on Carol Preston's fortune, she wouldn't have needed to resort to blackmail to secure a new base of operations worthy of Rittenhouse. It was galling to think about all that beautiful money slipping through her fingers, and the fact that Lucy Preston now possessed her family's wealth had been a very bitter pill to swallow.

Rittenhouse had handsomely rewarded the Preston family over the years for their faithful service-and in Emma's opinion-by rights, those assets should have reverted back to the organization. She wondered absently if perhaps her boss had just always assumed her daughter would obediently follow in her footsteps and that the funds would therefore remain within the group.

Unfortunately, it was too late now. In spite of the best efforts of Rittenhouse's most skilled attorneys, as far as the State of California was concerned, since Carol Preston died "intestate" (without a properly-executed will), all her personal assets were to be automatically divided between her heirs. In this particular case, however, ironically enough, since Carol had made sure Lucy's sister from the original timeline wouldn't ever exist again, there was only _one_ heir who inherited everything ( _dammit_ ), and it sure as hell wasn't Emma Whitmore.

Emma seldom had regrets about any of her actions, but in retrospect, impulsively killing Carol and Nicholas in the heat of the moment in 1888 probably _had_ been a rather foolish thing to do. Unsurprisingly, the little Rittenhouse princess was such a bleeding heart do-gooder she hadn't even touched her inheritance until just a few months ago, and knowing the younger woman as well as she did, Emma assumed it was because she considered the money to be _tainted_ -like that was even a thing. She'd recently learned that in addition to giving away a good-sized chunk of the estate, Lucy had used some of the money to open some dinky little book store near Stanford. _What a waste..._

Running a finger over the gleaming baby grand piano that took up one whole corner of the room, Emma congratulated herself once more on her wise decision for the new headquarters. She looked up then to see William enter the room, neatly dressed in an Izod polo and crisply-pressed khakis-looking so much like his father, the thirty-year-old could pass for Wyatt Logan's twin. In spite of her hatred for the Master Sergeant, Emma was still female enough to appreciate his good looks, something he'd unknowingly passed down to his only child. For a fleeting moment, she thought pensively how proud Jessica would have been of William, especially his growing involvement with Rittenhouse. He'd grown into a fine person-intelligent, thoughtful, and most important of all, loyal.

"Good evening, Emma," he said pleasantly, going over to the side table and pouring himself a glass of wine before taking a seat in one of the armchairs that flanked either side of the fireplace. She studied him surreptitiously, surprised to find herself harboring just the slightest touch of uncertainty about the conversation they were about to have. From the moment the maternity nurse in that little rural Indiana hospital had placed him in her arms thirty years ago, in some ways, William Logan was the closest thing to a child of her own that Emma would ever have-which was more than enough for her, considering she'd never once felt the urge to procreate, not after the hellish childhood she'd survived.

As he gazed up at her expectantly with his father's deep blue eyes, that tiny doubt continued to worm its way into her brain-what if, despite her methodical, painstaking nurturing of William's personality-what if nature decided to have the last laugh, and this young man, the future of Rittenhouse if all went as planned, turned out to be more like Wyatt Logan than anyone could have anticipated? From personal experience, she was well aware the experienced Delta Force operative could be a formidable adversary, relentless in his focus, but even worse, with a tendency at times to act recklessly just because something seemed _right_ to him. Up to this point, William had been obedient-malleable even-believing in what he was told, basing decisions on logic, but what if he unexpectedly balked at the role she'd been so carefully grooming him for?

Suppressing a slight shiver at that troubling thought, Emma smiled grimly. No, it wasn't possible, not after she'd so carefully conditioned him to despise not only his father, but the woman he was engaged to, Lucy Preston, as well. As far as William was concerned, Wyatt Logan was a selfish monster who'd turned his back on him when his newborn son was most vulnerable, mere hours old when his mother succumbed. And now, decades later, it was time for Rittenhouse and it's female leader to reap the benefits of her machinations.

"Dinner is served, Ms. Whitmore." The quiet voice of the mansion's housekeeper, Mrs. Lawrence, interrupted her musing.

Inclining her head in acknowledgment, Emma looked at William, who rose gracefully to his feet and offering her his arm, escorted his aunt to dinner. Setting his wine glass down, he pulled out her chair at the head of the long, polished table, before sitting at Emma's right. Loathe to spoil their pleasant meal, she kept the conversation light, drawing William into a discussion about the newest exhibit at the MOMA because she'd discovered that, oddly enough, for someone born in 1949, he possessed a surprising affinity for modern art.

They were lingering over dessert and coffee when Emma decided to stop stalling. Thirty years in the making ( _more or less_ ), the time had come at last to reveal her future plans for Rittenhouse-and William Logan. And while she had never been the spiritual type ( _Because really, where had God been when her father had been hurting her as a child? Hurting her mother?_ ), she found herself uttering a silent prayer that the young man beside her would be receptive to what she was asking ( _expecting_ ) him to do. Hey, it couldn't hurt to ask-maybe God would finally remember he owed her a favor…

 _Flashback_

No matter how tightly five-year-old Emma shut her eyes or held her small hands over her ears, she could still see and hear with devastating clarity certain sights and sounds that no one should ever have to experience, particularly a child. Like the dark purple bruising in the shape of a large cruel hand that mottled Mama's slender throat or the way her lip puffed up and bled on a regular basis or the muffled sobs she tried to hide at night from her little girl. Emma was a good girl and smart as a whip (her Mama said so), but she just didn't understand. Why did her Daddy get so mad _all the time_?

She had been little more than a toddler the first time he hit her, barely old enough to be toilet trained. It had been spring, and Emma had been delighted to find a cheerful patch of dandelions in the back yard. After picking a small bunch for Mama, she'd run in the back door and right into Daddy, and made him spill his cup of coffee on his pants. She never saw the backhand coming-one second she was intent on giving her mother the pretty yellow flowers, and the next, she was flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her, too stunned to even cry. Mama had cried, though, especially when Emma sat up and gagging, had spit out a baby tooth.

And on that momentous day, young Emma Whitmore learned several very important life lessons that she would never ( _ever_ ) forget:

Don't be a clumsy girl and make Daddy spill his hot coffee...

How to be quiet as a mouse when her father was trying to sleep…

The best places to hide when he got that ugly gleam in his eye and was spoiling for a fight…

Pretend not to see the bruises and scratches on Mama's pale, soft skin...

There was no such thing as the tooth fairy (or Santa Claus, for that matter)...

And most importantly, _Michael Whitmore was a very bad man_ who deserved to rot in the deepest recesses of hell…

The intervening years between that day and the one when Emma and her mother finally escaped had been permanently etched on her childish soul. She and Mama endured near-daily verbal, emotional-and frequently physical-abuse from her father, always living in fear of something (anything it seemed at times) setting him off ( _would this finally be the day he killed Mama?_ ), not to mention the shame and isolation of being aware from a young age that this life they were trapped in wasn't normal, wasn't right, but feeling helpless to do anything about it. And once she and her mother were free, Emma Whitmore swore to herself that she'd never live like that ever again.

That she would never give _any_ man power over her again.

 _End flashback_

Setting aside her napkin, Emma stood abruptly and said, "There's a matter I need to discuss with you, but somewhere slightly more private," and ignoring the somewhat curious expression on his face, she led William back to the drawing room, closing the double doors behind them. Gesturing for him to take a seat, she took a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

"Before we get started, I want you to know how pleased I am with the way you handled today's assignment. I am not unaware that being transplanted into the future forty years has been an adjustment, and so far, you seem to be coping admirably," and only the faint blush staining his cheekbones betrayed William's pleasure at her unexpected praise. He regarded her somberly. "More importantly, I can certainly understand how difficult it was for you to see Wyatt Logan for the first time, in person as it were, considering how you feel about the man." Watching him closely, Emma thought she detected only a slight reaction at the mention of William's father. _That was promising._

"Thank you, Emma, I'm glad you were satisfied, although, can I ask a question?" When she graciously nodded, he inhaled deeply and asked, "Will you tell me the real reason that I was brought from the past-my past-to this time and place? I understand and respect that as head of Rittenhouse, you aren't able to share everything with me, but now, I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me, or more specifically, something you _need_ from me. And let's be honest, I care for you very much, but I don't think you pulled me out of my own time because you were suddenly missing me. So, Emma, are you ready to finally tell me the truth?" The stubborn set of William's jaw was so much like his father's it was uncanny.

Emma licked her suddenly dry lips. Now that the moment was here, the one she'd been mentally preparing herself for what seemed like forever, she was alarmed at a mild feeling of dread that rose in her chest. _Best to just spit it out._ Summoning a tight smile, Emma responded with a shrug, "Yes, William, you're right. The time _has_ come for me to explain a few things. While I have never shied away from telling you the truth about your parents, I am guilty of keeping the knowledge of your father's growing threat to Rittenhouse from you. That was by design, of course, From the day you were born, I've felt that you deserved to grow up without the added burden of knowing that everything your late mother believed in, held dear, has been in jeopardy, threatened by Wyatt Logan and his new fiance, Lucy Preston, for going on five years now in this timeline."

She noted the mild surprise that flitted across William's features, but pushed ahead. "Some time ago, Wyatt Logan, Lucy Preston, and their comrades gained access to a second time machine. That machine's computer systems are linked to those of the Mothership, and they have been using that link and that machine to follow the Mothership in order to thwart Rittenhouse's plans-to try to destroy us. I'm sure I don't have to tell you the significance of this issue." She stole a quick glance at him then, but William remained still, quietly absorbing the information. "The obvious solution is to break the link between the machines, and I, along with Rittenhouse's other top scientific minds, have been working on that. But it's proved more difficult than we first imagined. We were able to create a type of short-term cloak, but that could only be used to hide a single geographic location from them. It's what I used to protect the location of your home in the past, all those times I came to visit you. Honestly, I thought it would be only a matter of time before we would find a way to expand that cloaking capability-but we can't. In other words, to put it bluntly, it seems we have used up our one opportunity to travel without their knowledge on protecting you. That may sound harsh, but in reality, it should tell you how important you are to Rittenhouse, William. But, this also means that we have now reached an impasse with time travel-Rittenhouse can't be successful in shaping the future while being constantly followed by Wyatt Logan and his crew in their bucket-of-bolts time machine."

His dark brows drew together as William wordlessly contemplated this new revelation. Rather encouraged by his lack of response, she sought to press her advantage. "But in addition to your father actively trying to destroy Rittenhouse, I'm afraid there's more, William. Not only is Lucy Preston engaged to marry Wyatt Logan, she is actually descended from two of Rittenhouse's oldest, most respected families, the Prestons and Cahills. Despite numerous efforts by her family, especially her mother and great-grandfather, this woman has turned her back on her illustrious heritage-her destiny, if you will-and has joined forces with your father, determined to wipe us from existence."

Practically holding her breath, the redhead waited as patiently as she could for him to digest the information, fairly confident William would come to the only reasonable, logical conclusion-Wyatt and Lucy must be eliminated if Rittenhouse was to survive, let alone thrive.

Several seconds ticked by at a seemingly glacial pace as Emma watched the subtle play of emotions on William's face before he raised his gaze and spoke. "While I certainly understand that these people must be stopped from inflicting any further damage to Rittenhouse, I don't want to jump to any erroneous conclusions. Are you suggesting a permanent solution to the Wyatt Logan problem?" His bright blue eyes were fixed intently on Emma, and she was relieved to note his matter-of-fact demeanor, despite the rather rigid set of his shoulders. He was almost there mentally (if not emotionally), the place where she needed him to be for her plans to work. After all this time, and so close now to fulfilling her objective she could practically taste it, it mattered little to Emma that William had never taken a life before or what effect such an action might have on her "nephew" when one of the intended targets was his biological father.

Composing her features, she returned his gaze dispassionately, inwardly willing him to say the words. And then in an even, measured tone, he finally broke the tense silence, and everything in Emma's world was right again. "I understand. My father must die in order to keep Rittenhouse safe, and you want me to perform the deed. Is that correct?" Had she not been so focused on securing William's capitulation-perhaps paying closer attention-Emma might have noticed the traces of raw emotion underneath the almost clinical manner in which he described taking his father's life, the momentary flash of pain in his blue eyes the young man couldn't quite hide...

* * *

 _A/N #2: Poor William! You know the old saying "never ask a question you don't want to hear the answer to"? Yikes! How awful to finally learn what Emma REALLY wants from him :( thanks so much to everyone who's still hanging in there with us, especially those of you kind enough to leave a review, it's much appreciated :) as always, extra special thanks to my writing partner, Qwertygal, who's such a pleasure to work with..._

 _A/N #3: And were back! Thank you everyone for waiting patiently for this chapter, and for all of your kind reviews on the previous chapter. And a huge thank-you to the always amazing and generous Gracielinn for taking on the lion's share of this chapter when the ideas just weren't flowing for me! Loving working on this with you!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

William stared at the door across the quiet street-so quiet in fact, he could almost pretend that he was back home in _his_ time- located in a neighborhood where, by design, there were few reminders of this twenty-first century. He shook his head slowly. _This wasn't the time for homesickness_ , he chided himself. He'd been given his mission parameters from Rittenhouse, and they trusted (no, more than that, they _expected_ ) him to carry it out. And it was possibly the most important Rittenhouse mission in recent memory-as Emma had stressed to him, they were talking about the future of the organization, in essence, the future of their world.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, looking up again at the dark blue door on the tidy storefront located on a side street a couple blocks away from the university. Of course, ultimately, they were also talking about his father. _But why should that mean anything to me? He was never a father to me._ Forcefully shoving all thoughts of Wyatt Logan to the back of his mind, he shook his head again to clear his thoughts, took a breath, and resolutely strode toward the door.

A tiny bell chimed overhead as he swung the door open, and pausing just inside the door, William surveyed the interior of the shop. It was unlike any other book store he'd ever seen-more like someone's home, certainly nothing like the cavernous, rather chilly library at the mansion that housed Rittenhouse headquarters. There were numerous small tables scattered about, each with a couple of cushioned chairs placed around them. The dark blue area rug under his feet was thick and probably contributed to the hushed, rather restful atmosphere. Off to his right near the front of the room by the wide, sparkling-clean windows were a pair of small, comfortable-looking sofas. The walls were painted a soft, restful blue and were decorated here and there with eye-catching clusters of what might be framed vintage book covers. And everywhere he looked, there were books of all sizes-an impressive selection neatly lined up on open shelving units, with some stacked invitingly on the tables, as well as a few adding to the clutter of the tall, old-fashioned counter situated along the back wall. In spite of himself, William grudgingly conceded the total effect of the shop was warm and inviting, clearly designed to tempt readers into spending a leisurely hour or two perusing the printed word or perhaps just browsing.

He caught sight of himself in an antique mirror hanging on the wall beside the door, and nearly jumped-because his reflection looked nothing like him. A dirty-blond wig and thin mustache, wire-rim glasses, even brown contact lenses to cover his apparently distinctive blue eyes ( _Wyatt Logan's eyes_ ), all because Emma had insisted. He had tried to push back. It seemed ridiculous-he truly didn't think he looked _that_ much like his father-and Lucy Preston would never notice the resemblance, he had groused to his aunt. But Emma's expression had turned chilly, unyielding even, before she sternly reminded him who was in charge of this operation, as well as exactly what his place was. Naturally, he'd apologized immediately before mutely accepting the proffered disguise from her hands. Because, of course, like it or not, he _had_ to. Not only because his aunt was now his superior, but because William owed his very life to the woman-she was the only family he'd ever known. Without her, he would have truly been an orphan, left without a mother when Jessica Logan died so unexpectedly, and callously abandoned by his father. Who knows what would have become of him?

It was Emma who had looked after him (in her admittedly less-than-maternal own way) all these years-what kind of life would William have had without her? Plus she had taken care of him even though he knew deep down that _he_ had been responsible for his mother's death…for her friend's death. Emma had _more_ than cared for him, in fact. She had raised him to give him a place in the hierarchy of Rittenhouse-a position higher than most people could dream of. Certainly a position that the son of Wyatt Logan would never, should never have dreamed of…he knew enough from his aunt's stories to understand that. All she had ever asked for in return was his unquestioning obedience, which he'd always given willingly. And when that little voice in the back of his mind would protest-that tiny spark of doubt that had been there for years, asking him, " _Why? Why would Emma do these things for him?"_ -he would shove it down into a dark corner of his brain where it couldn't bother him. Where it wouldn't give him pause in completing his mission, where it couldn't cause him to even contemplate the newest iteration of that doubting message- _Why would Lucy Preston and Wyatt Logan be trying to destroy Rittenhouse?_

Slowly, he turned his gaze from his unrecognizable reflection to scan the room again. He noted only one other customer, seated at a small table in the corner, poring over a large hard-cover tome. And there-just across the room, standing behind the counter-was Lucy Preston. Her back had been to him, studying something on the computer, but she turned when the bell chimed, and gave him a welcoming smile. Nodding quickly in her direction, he moved toward a bookshelf opposite the counter, rapidly scanning the titles for those compatible with the cover story he and Emma had come up with until Lucy had turned back to what she had been doing. Wandering over to the next set of shelves, he located the correct section and pulled the first three books he saw, and moved to situate himself at a small table in the corner that provided him a clear view of Lucy and the front desk.

Glancing in her direction, seeing that she was still staring at the computer, he opened the top book in front of him on the table. He leafed through a few pages, then found a bi-fold map at the center. He spread the map open, and did his best to appear absorbed with "tracing 1965 troop movements in Southeast Asia," as the caption read, all the while still keeping one eye on the traitorous Lucy Preston. In spite of himself, actually didn't find it a hardship to watch her every move.

He had to admit, the traitor, who looked very slim and feminine today in a summery dress, was quite pretty-with expressive brown eyes and lots of wavy black hair. Although he had been fascinated with the titian hue of his aunt's hair when he was very small, and well aware his mother had been a blonde, for some unknown reason, William had always been attracted to brunettes, as far back as junior high. While he supposed that some women found him attractive and he had dated casually during high school and college, William had never once allowed himself to get seriously interested in, let alone involved with, any woman, no matter how attractive. Emma had made it clear to him from a very young age what his future would be, and that there would be plenty of time for "distractions" (as she liked to call them) later on, after Rittenhouse was strong and secure. With that in mind, William pushed down the slight flicker of attraction he'd felt when Lucy Preston smiled so warmly at him. The traitor's physical attractiveness and deceptively friendly manner was nothing more than a distraction from the objective.

At that moment there was the click from a door closing. It must be behind the counter, he thought, no doubt leading to a storeroom or something in the back-but it was hidden from his view. Then footsteps sounded across the hardwood floor. Lucy had turned completely toward the sound of the oncoming person, so William took the opportunity to crane his own neck in the direction of the sound, but he sighed in frustration, as he realized that entire corner of the shop was obscured from his view by the nearest set of bookshelves.

He stilled, and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end when he suddenly had a preternatural certainty about just who had been in the back of the shop. _This wasn't supposed to happen._

"How did it go?" Lucy had called out to the still unseen person. "Any luck, or am I going to have to rent a port-o-let for the grand opening?"

The unmistakably masculine chuckle that hit his ears after her comment confirmed his suspicions. Wyatt Logan was in the bookshop.

"No," he heard a deep voice continue, "I think we're good now. Good thing you had Command Sergeant Major Logan, Senior Advisor for clogged toilets and other special projects at your disposal, ma'am."

The man stepped in front of Lucy's counter, and therefore in William's line of sight, just as he finished the statement-and just in time for William to catch the smirk and wink that he had sent in Lucy's direction. _Arrogant ass_ , thought William, bringing his eyes back to the map of Vietnam on his table, yet not seeing anything but red.

"Couple of customers today?"

William glanced back toward the man and woman when he heard the man speak again, and saw that Wyatt Logan had rounded the counter, and was now standing beside Lucy.

She sighed softly, "A couple. Which I guess is one hundred percent more than yesterday when we first opened, and the one lady came in thinking we were a Thai restaurant. Still…not exactly an example of retail commerce at its finest."

William slid his chair sideways slightly, to put the couple more in his line of vision. He glanced up casually, to ensure they hadn't noticed his movement, but he needn't have worried, both were fully absorbed in each other.

He saw Wyatt Logan shrug, and swing an easy arm around Lucy's shoulders.

"You told me yourself you weren't expecting a single customer until the grand opening and lecture series kick-off day, so in my book, that means you're officially already three hundred percent beyond your expectations…sounds pretty good to me, ma'am."

She sighed again, motioning toward the computer screen with her chin, while still leaning against his shoulder, not breaking the contact. "I've checked and double-checked the special guests and speakers for the grand opening. Everyone is coming, we have the times for the lectures ironed out, and I've pulled appropriate books to be on display during each lecture."

"And Jiya texted me," he cut in, "Her friend's string quartet is gonna be here right at noon, and is ready to go with period-appropriate selections to fit the lectures. And don't forget you now have fully-functioning modern plumbing….so things are looking good."

She stepped away from him then, nervously combing her fingers through her hair and pulling her hair up and into a loose ponytail, showing off the dainty lines of her jaw and neck. William found himself distracted by all the pale, delicate skin on display and wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Wondered what it would be like to run his finger down her rosy cheek or along her slim shoulder. To his dismay, he suddenly felt a completely irrational stab of jealousy at the gentle but definitely possessive way his father touched his fiance...

 _What are you doing, Logan?_ William scolded himself. _Focus!_

Lucy glanced back toward her fiance. "I just want everything to go well…I mean this is just so…different, than what I know I'm good at, and definitely nothing like what we have been doing."

For the first time since coming into view of the shop's main room, Wyatt Logan swept his eyes across the tables, windows, and doorways, taking in the scene. William carefully re-folded the map and made a production of turning to the next page, hoping that the Delta Force operative wouldn't notice anything suspicious about him.

Apparently, he didn't, as his father brought his gaze back to the woman standing beside him. He turned toward her, and began talking again-so softly that William had to concentrate to understand his words.

"That was the whole point, right?" Wyatt Logan had asked. Something _different_ while we have a bit of a reprieve from our 'day' jobs."

She smiled at that. "Yes, you're right, of course. But sometimes I think…I wonder…there's so much more research I should be doing with you, with the others…" her voice trailed away.

"You do more research than the six of us combined, and you know it," Wyatt countered, dropping his voice even lower-and William risked leaning closer. "There's time to have your own project, too."

"And besides, you had to do something with all that money to keep it out of Emma's hands. It was a stroke of luck that there was no will, and now with your Mom's estate-and your other job-well, this place isn't about the number of customers or necessarily making a profit, right? I mean, this project is important, just like you said, to make sure people can access these kinds of books, the type of history beyond just what's easily accessible online."

She laughed then, a lilting sound that filled the shop, and William couldn't help but let a reluctant grin spread across his face at hearing it…it was so…joyful.

"So apparently you really are listening when I ramble about this place at dinner?"

Wyatt barked a laugh in response, and replied, speaking at a normal volume again. "I always listen, ma'am."

Lucy came around from the back of the counter, and straightened a stack of books on a nearby table. She then went to the shelf behind her, pulling another book and walking it back to the counter. William realized he was staring, and jerked his head away from her, back to the counter-only to see the man who was his father watching Lucy with the same intense stare. He dropped his eyes back to his book as Lucy came back to stand beside Wyatt. William was thankful that the shop was as quiet as it was, as she leaned in toward her fiancé, lowering the volume of her voice.

"I think…I know, that I'm just nervous about the grand opening. I want it to go well. A lot of my former colleagues are going to be there, and my mother's colleagues…not to mention there's all kinds of rumors about what I've been doing with my time these years. It's not like I care what they think, I don't, but…" She shook her head gently. "I, _we've_ spent a lot of time on this, and I just want it to go well."

"If that's what's bothering you, than there's absolutely nothing to worry about, I guarantee it." Wyatt affectionately bumped her shoulder with his. "Because I know that this grand opening, this whole project, is going to be amazing-because you're amazing."

She grinned fondly, "I think you might be a little biased."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Duh, of course, I'm biased. President of the Lucy Preston fan club-remember?"

She bounced on her toes, pecking a quick kiss to his cheek. "Pretty sure you're the only member of that fan club!"

"Hey," he said, with mock hurt, "Just because I'm the first and only member doesn't make me any less the president. Besides, not sure I'd like it if there were more members, you know?"

She beamed at him. "Okay, Mr. President-so is that what I should print on your name tag for the opening?"

He chuckled dryly. "Whatever you want, babydoll. I do have to get back to our other work, though. Christopher has me going through...well," he quickly glanced around the store again, "I'll tell you later." He reached for her then, loosely but possessively looping his hands around her elbows, turning her toward him until they were facing each other. "But seriously, Luce, don't spend any more time stewing over this stuff. Everything's ready to go, and it's going to be great, 'cause you've got this…a walk in the park after some of the stuff I've seen you do!"

Her cheeks reddened slightly at the compliment, as she glanced at the two customers sitting nearby. Undeterred, Wyatt pulled her closer, until they were nearly nose-to-nose. She seemed to relent then, and closed the distance between them, kissing him slowly at first, and then soundly-regardless of having an audience.

William pointedly turned his gaze back to his book, his mind swirling with bitter thoughts. He should hate this woman ( _traitor_ ), because she stole his father away...but somehow, after just a short time spent in her presence, he thought that perhaps regardless of what Emma believed, it was all his father's doing. Lucy Preston probably wasn't even aware of William's existence, that her fiancé _had a son_ that he'd willfully, selfishly turned his back on, he rationalized. Who knew, maybe it was even his father's influence that had pulled Lucy Preston away from her family in the first place. If not for Wyatt Logan, it was conceivable that Lucy would still be in the Rittenhouse fold-almost as high up in the hierarchy as he was already. For a brief, self-indulgent moment, William allowed his wayward thoughts to wander...maybe, just maybe, Emma would have considered the possibility of a match between them-after all, with her pure-blooded Rittenhouse heritage, Lucy Preston would be quite an asset for an ambitious outsider like him.

He shook his head in dismay, " _Don't go there, William,"_ he warned himself, " _Thoughts like that are not only a distraction and a waste of time, but dangerous!_ " He fought to suppress his envy though, at the easy, almost effortless way Lucy and his father behaved around each other, with kindness, and humor, and judging by the kiss they'd shared, no small amount of desire...

William jerked then as he realized he'd been so lost in thought that Wyatt Logan had walked right past-within a foot of him-on his way out the front door. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment as his emotions surged, threatening to overwhelm him. _His father_. _So close that he could have reached out and touched him_. But of course _Wyatt Logan_ had noticed nothing….he would never notice William, his own son. He shook his head then. _Get a grip! Focus on the mission!_ He straightened in the chair then, acutely aware that Lucy was now standing behind him, seemingly in animated conversation with the shop's other customer.

No, Wyatt Logan would _never_ notice him, but Lucy Preston would. He _needed_ her to notice him, if the next part of his mission was going to work. William took the opportunity to stand, and observe her interacting with the other customer from a distance as he pretended to peruse the shelves relating to his cover story again. When he saw Lucy start to move in his direction, he hastily pulled two more books at random and returned to the table and made a show of being engrossed in the material.

"Hi," she smiled at him brightly. "Welcome to 'Travels Through Time'. Are you looking for any information in particular today that I can assist you with?"

Painfully aware that _everything_ depended on him developing a rapport with this woman, he took a shallow breath and raised his head to meet her faintly inquiring gaze, suddenly very glad that Emma had insisted on the brown contact lenses and the glasses. "Just browsing for now," he replied, also grateful she had insisted on him using a British accent.

Lucy nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you're in the right spot for that. We have tea and coffee at the front, if you want to help yourself."

"No, thank you, it's…I'm fine."

She spied one of the books he had just grabbed from the shelf. "Oh, The American Experience in Vietnam: Reflections on an Era. That was such a troubled, but interesting time in American history."

"Was it?" he asked, glancing down at the book's cover. "I mean, I just don't know much about this period in time yet, I'm afraid." He looked up at her then, and perceiving nothing but mild curiosity on her attractive face, decided that perhaps it was time to move this mission forward. Thinking fast and improvising, William gave her his best smile (dimples and all) and confided, "I'm writing my first novel, you see, and hoped to do a bit of research while I'm visiting the San Francisco area. But it appears you might be quite knowledgeable about the subject. Would you like to tell me more about it? Please? It would be so helpful."

"Well," she hesitated, her dark brows drawing together slightly.

"If you're not busy, of course," he was quick to assure her, gazing at her expectantly.

She chuckled lightly, and in spite of himself, William couldn't suppress an answering grin. "Okay, I guess I've got a few minutes to spare for a customer in need."

He was barely able to control a slight flinch at her unwittingly accurate remark. ( _Oh, Dr. Preston, you have no idea what this customer needs._ ) He motioned politely toward the other chair at his table, and she accepted his invitation to take a seat. Thankfully, as part of his cover, William had stashed a small notepad and pen in his pocket, and now he made a show of retrieving the items as if preparing to document his research.

He was taken aback when Lucy jumped right in with a brief introduction. Holding out her slim hand, she offered with a charming smile, "First things first. I'm Lucy Preston, proprietor of this little bookstore. And you are?"

After only a slight hesitation, William thrust his hand out in return, and answered, "Will, Will James," giving her only a portion of the name on his birth certificate that read William James _Logan_. Lucy's small hand felt cool and smooth in his, and somewhat reluctantly, he forced himself to let go of her.

Lucy beamed at him. "It's very nice to meet you, Will." Gesturing at the growing pile of books in front of him, she asked, "Have you settled on a plot for your novel yet, or are you just in the preliminary stages of your research?" Momentarily distracted by her physical attractiveness and closeness, it took William a few seconds to collect his thoughts. The next few minutes with Lucy Preston were crucial to his ( _to Rittenhouse's_ ) plans, and he mentally cringed at the thought of Emma's wrath if the mission were to fail.

Swallowing hard, he responded calmly, "Nice to meet you also, Lucy, and I appreciate you sharing your expertise with me," and began to spin a fairly cohesive deception about wanting to write about the effects of the Vietnam War on a small town in the heartland of the United States during the 1960's, confessing, "In fact, I chose that particular region of your country because I found out recently that a distant relative was born and raised in a rural area of Indiana." He thought it best not to stray too far from the actual truth because he'd discerned from the information Emma had thoughtfully provided him beforehand that this woman, allegedly a Rittenhouse traitor, was quite intelligent ( _and more than just a very pretty face_ ).

The next hour flew by. William couldn't remember when he'd enjoyed the company of a woman more. With seemingly little effort at all, Lucy Preston's open, friendly manner had almost immediately put him at ease ( _and sitting so near her, a very male part of him couldn't help but appreciate the intoxicating scent of the light fragrance she wore_ ). During their conversation, she posed surprisingly thoughtful questions, and smiled encouragingly at each answer he came up with. They were both startled when without warning, the little bell above the front door rang, breaking the spell surrounding them.

With an apologetic shrug, Lucy excused herself and went to greet the new arrival, leaving a shaken William to gaze wistfully after her. _What the hell just happened?_ Every bit of his objectivity had apparently evaporated after spending only an hour in Lucy Preston's company. Thank God Emma had trusted William enough not to insist that he wear a wire for this first encounter with her sworn enemy. He shuddered to imagine his aunt's reaction to his careless behavior.

Perilously close to losing his focus, William closed his eyes tightly, grimacing at the unfamiliar sensation of the damn contact lenses. He fought to quell the uneasy feeling that, not only was this woman, his father's wife-to-be, nothing like William had anticipated, something about Lucy Preston had unexpectedly drawn him in. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Emma would _not_ be pleased at this potentially disastrous turn of events. _He needed to get away-from here, from her, now-before he accidentally compromised the mission…_

* * *

 _A/N #1: So apparently, Wyatt isn't the only Logan male to fall under the spell of our fave historian...and so the plot thickens (insert evil laughter)...thanks to everyone for hanging out with me and Q. We are having such a great time writing this :)) as always, major thanks to my awesome writing partner! - Gracie :)_

 _A/N #2: Thank you everyone for staying with us on this journey! William finding out that following Rittenhouse orders may not be as straightforward as Aunt Emma advertised. Please consider leaving a review to let us know what you think of this new twist in the storyline! We hope to get the next chapter posted quite soon. And a huge thank-you to Gracie for being so great to work with on this! -Qwertgal_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Once she texted Wyatt to let him know she was ready to go home, Lucy closed the front door of the shop with a sigh, clicking the lock into place. She felt a small smile bloom across her face as she turned back toward the counter, looking at the store's- _her_ store's-interior. Lucy moved quietly around the room, gathering up books that she had insisted her few customers leave on the tables-partly to be kind, and partly so she would _know_ they were in the right place-and reshelving them herself. It all seemed so distant from her life these past few years, sharing her love of history and books with others in this way, but it made her happy. Maybe it wasn't as exciting as time travel, certainly not as death-defying, thank God, but it _was_ gratifying, nonetheless. It was the start of a new life, she supposed, a more settled life-and glancing down at the glittering ring on her finger, the smile on her face widened-in more ways than one.

Of course, Rittenhouse might have gone quiet lately, but it was definitely still out there, with a still-vengeful Emma running the show, they presumed. And there would no doubt be more of those death-defying missions to come. But for now, it was a waiting game, with the team preparing for the other side to show themselves next. As so often was the case, the lull had allowed the team time to do more research into Rittenhouse and its members, and that research had proved surprisingly productive. Agent Christopher had made several arrests following clues from the Rittenhouse branches they had originally discovered through Lucy's grandfather. But frustratingly, there had been nothing yet that brought them to Emma, to Rittenhouse's new headquarters, or to the Mothership.

Lost in her thoughts, she moved to the next table, collecting the books there, noting the title of the largest, Vietnam: A History. As she reshelved the volumes, she found herself thinking again about the man who had been reading them-Will, Will James, as he'd introduced himself. It was a little curious, Lucy mused, someone from England writing a novel about the American experience in the heartland during the Vietnam War. But she chided herself almost immediately for that thought-hadn't plenty of American writers written about episodes from British history? But still…it wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but there _was_ something unusual about him. She couldn't quite say she necessarily enjoyed their talk-it had been slightly unsettling at times, if she were being honest with herself-yet nothing significant enough to make her want to _stop_ talking to the guy.

Lucy sat for a moment, glancing back at the remaining book on her intriguing customer's table. As they discussed his proposed book, the conversation had turned to topics beyond the actual book itself-such as why he wanted to write a novel, some of the books and authors that had influenced him, even a bit about his youth in England.

And through it all, Lucy had been aware of of an inner disquiet regarding the man. There was just something about him-his mannerisms, his phrasing. She'd even jokingly asked if he'd ever taken a class at Stanford, wondering if he could have possibly been a previous student of hers, but he'd merely laughed at that suggestion. It had been a deep chuckle, a pleasing energy resonating from his chest that moved slowly upward until it was dancing in his dark eyes. Lucy couldn't explain it, but there'd been something unnervingly _familiar,_ even intimate, oddly enough, about her whole encounter with the unusual stranger.

Will James was obviously intelligent-in fact, had been an amazingly quick study, as Lucy willingly contributed what she knew about his topic of interest-making connections and asking well-reasoned questions in response to her remarks. He'd shared anecdotes with her that illustrated some of her points-some serious and sad, some humorous. Laughing about one of his more amusing stories, she'd asked Will where he'd heard it. There was a pause, and a glimmer of something indiscernible flashed across his face. Then, practically as soon as the look appeared, it was gone, and he gave her a charming lopsided smile, saying he'd found some veterans online and had been conducting interviews for several months.

Lucy sighed, and getting to her feet, collected the book to put it with the others. _And why was she still thinking about this?_ Will said he'd return another day, and Lucy wasn't certain how to feel about that...if she welcomed it or was reluctant about it. Beyond the unusual familiarity about him, she sensed that somehow there was more to it than just his historical questioning. Almost a lingering feeling she couldn't shake-that he had talked to her not just for information for his book, but because the man _needed_ to talk to her-for what, she didn't know. She shook her head absently-it was just like Wyatt was always telling her, she was probably a little too compassionate for her own good. It was hard, though, for her to disregard the discomforting impression she got from Will-especially when he had briefly opened up about himself-the impression that he needed _help_.

As Lucy walked back toward the counter to collect her jacket and bag, she found herself pondering the odd turn their conversation had taken. They'd been chatting about the influences of the war in smaller U.S. midwestern communities, and he'd offered an observation comparing those influences to similar ones that had occurred in the area following the Korean conflict when he suddenly stopped, and smiled self-consciously at her.

"I have to thank you for this-you've been so kind, listening to me ramble when I'm sure there's other things you need to do?"

"Nonsense," she'd chuckled, "That's why I opened this place-to talk history. Tell me more about your thoughts on that comparison."

Will shook his head then, dark eyes darting to the ground, then back to her. "That's…really generous…amazing actually…and I'd like that." Lucy remembered feeling the faintest stirring of unease at his response when he continued talking, "I guess I'm not used to people listening to my ideas, you know, being interested in what I think."

She smiled at him encouragingly, and coaxed, "Why is that?"

He looked at her for a second's indecision, before dropping his eyes to the floor and confessing with a studied casualness, "The people I lived with when I was a child-they were never interested in what I had to say." He gave Lucy a tight smile. "That didn't stop younger me from talking, though…I was a very inquisitive child, always asking questions, chattering about new ideas I'd had…but they would just ignore me, probably thought I was annoying. Sometimes the man, Mr. Smith, would get angry and yell at me to go do something productive and stop talking so much-which strangely enough, I actually preferred to being ignored, because at least it was a response, a reaction, if that makes sense?" Inhaling sharply, he brought his gaze back to hers. "Eventually, I got the picture…it was just better to keep my questions and ideas to myself."

Lucy struggled to suppress the instinctive rush of sympathy she felt and keep her expression calm and even-somehow certain that Will wouldn't welcome any visible display of pity for his sad upbringing. "Oh," she'd began, "I'm sorry about that-a person should never feel like they have to keep their ideas quiet."

"No," he said, quickly shaking his head. "It was better that way-if I didn't talk, then it wasn't so obvious when they ignored me. I was…more content, more accepting, I guess?" he lifted a broad shoulder indifferently. "So, you see, I'm usually a rather reserved person, never really one to have close friends at school or anything, but today has been quite nice, talking to you."

Lucy had known then that she should change the subject, but something in her-a need to understand, maybe to help-had made her push forward. "You said 'the people you lived with'. You didn't live with your parents, your family, when you were young?"

An odd look unexpectedly flashed across his eyes-one of self-reproach, she thought, maybe even of fear. But he had recovered quickly, silent until his expression was neutral again. He bit his lower lip slightly, and shrugged, looking slightly away from her. "My mother died shortly after I was born, and," he gave a strained-looking smile, his eyes darting back to meet hers, "My father…well, I've never even so much as spoken to him."

"Oh," she said, her heart breaking a little at the stark simplicity of his tone.

"So this couple, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, took me in, looked after me. And I have an aunt who visited me as often as she could."

Lucy nodded, "In England, you mean?" she asked curiously.

He paused for a fleeting second before answering, "Right, um, a small village in Devon County, a bit south of London-very rural, middle of nowhere. You know, more sheep than people?" offering Lucy a faintly self-deprecating smile she couldn't help but return.

Lucy sighed. She supposed if the poor guy returned another time for a conversation (or a book or two), she might be able to learn a little more about him. There was something about Will James, something a bit peculiar (but also rather sad) that intrigued her, not to mention, Lucy just couldn't shake the persistent feeling that she knew this man-but from where, she had no idea...

Just then, she noticed Wyatt's new black pickup pull up out front and couldn't help smiling, all thoughts of her odd customer melting away in anticipation of an evening spent with her _fiancé_. Lucy sighed contently. She certainly hadn't been a fan of the word when it meant the possibility of marrying some stranger who was probably Rittenhouse (like this time line's version of her mother would have permitted anyone else). But now, well, since Wyatt Logan was the fiancé in question, the only word with the power to make her happier was _wife_ -as in becoming his in a few weeks.

Privately, Lucy had wished more than once since the magical night Wyatt proposed that they had just gotten a license, found a Justice of the Peace and been done with it. Although he'd not said anything, she had the feeling that Wyatt wanted a wedding for her sake, even one as low-key and intimate as the one they were planning, out of some misplaced sense of guilt, possibly because she wouldn't be the first Mrs. Logan. (Well, duh, but she'd definitely be the _last_ wife Wyatt had.) Silly man-she didn't need any kind of fancy ceremony or a lot of fuss-all Lucy Preston needed to be happy and content for the rest of her life was _him_.

Once they were home, Wyatt went into the kitchen and started pulling stuff out of the fridge for a quick supper while Lucy changed into something more comfortable. He was standing at the counter whisking some eggs in a large Pyrex bowl when she came up behind him, and wrapping her arms around his chest, laid her head on Wyatt's broad back.

"What's for supper, chef?" Lucy murmured, affectionately rubbing her cheek against his shirt. He was always so warm and solid-her safe haven, her protector-the person she trusted more than anyone. Before meeting Wyatt, Lucy never dreamed she was capable of loving someone as much as she loved this man, and soon, he'd be her _husband_ for the rest of their lives. Shivering involuntarily at the myriad emotions conjured up by just the word, she blushed when he looked over his shoulder and asked solicitously, "Are you cold, sweetheart?"

"Nope, just deliriously happy," she quipped, reaching up to drop a soft kiss on Wyatt's stubbled cheek before picking up a paring knife and starting to chop up the vegetables he'd set out to go in their omelets. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, occasionally smiling at each other, content just being together.

While they ate, Lucy had her iPad beside her on the table, dutifully scrolling through their wedding checklist. Even a small, private ceremony like the one they were planning was turning out to be a bit more work than either of them would have thought. " _So many little details yet to take care of,"_ she fretted, although as Lucy scanned the list, it was gratifying to note that the biggest decisions had already been made.

The ceremony would take place in Denise and Michelle Christopher's spacious back yard, officiated by one of Lucy's former students who was now an ordained minister. They'd ordered flowers and bought their wedding bands last week, and picked up the license two days ago. Accomplished amateur baker Michelle offered to make the cake, and Connor Mason had insisted on footing the bill for their wedding supper.

Wyatt and Rufus, who'd been thrilled when asked to serve as Best Man, had already been fitted for their tuxes a couple of weeks ago, although to Lucy and Maid of Honor Jiya's dismay, both men were being maddingly secretive about exactly what kind of formalwear the guys had picked out.

"Hey, c'mon, fair is fair, ladies. _We_ have to wait until the ceremony to see what you're wearing," Rufus teased, exchanging a manly fist bump with the groom-to-be, who nodded in amused agreement. Although Jiya had scowled at her boyfriend in response, Lucy had to admit, her friend made a valid point-fair was fair-because just thinking about the look on Wyatt's face when he saw his bride's dress for the first time filled her with an almost giddy sense of anticipation...

* * *

 _Flashback_

The day she chose her wedding gown had been one of the happiest in her life, marred only by the knowledge that neither Amy or her real mother would be there to witness the moment Lucy Anne Preston became Mrs. Wyatt James Logan. (Smiling inwardly, she was aware that kind of thinking might be considered old-fashioned by some in this day and age, especially by those as fiercely independent as the Preston women, but perhaps _because_ of her recent history with that name, with her lineage, Lucy found she liked the idea of taking-sharing-Wyatt's name very much.)

Not only had Jiya accompanied her on the very important quest for the perfect dress, she'd invited the other members of their 'family,' Denise, Michelle, and a very excited Olivia Christopher, who at the age of twelve would be serving as a junior bridesmaid, to go as well.

While Lucy had looked at several lovely dresses, and tried on a few, it wasn't until their little group stopped at a quaint wedding shop not far from the university that she found _the_ dress. Even before a wide-eyed Jiya breathed, "Oh, Lucy, it's perfect," she just _knew_. Standing in front of the triple mirrors, Lucy gazed at her reflection, suddenly overcome with emotion. The A-line dress, made of a soft white chiffon with an illusion lace bodice overlay, had dainty cap sleeves and a satin waistband. The scalloped neckline was somehow modest yet enticing and very feminine at the same time, and Lucy blushed at the thought of Wyatt's large warm hand on the bare skin that the low-cut back of the dress revealed. The shop owner had suggested a delicate fingertip veil trimmed in eyelash lace, and once it was carefully placed on top of Lucy's thick raven-dark tresses, every female in the room fell silent, transfixed by the bride-to-be's beautiful appearance.

The spell was broken by an awestruck young Olivia, who unknowingly hit a nerve when she sighed raptly, "Oh, Lucy, you look just like a princess." Dimly aware of both a sympathetic glance from Jiya and Denise's subtle wince, Lucy barely suppressed a shudder at the girl's innocent, well-meant compliment, which, thanks to Emma Whitmore, definitely had a much different connotation for her.

Thank goodness for Jiya, who hastily invited Olivia and Michelle to look at bridesmaid dresses on the other side of the shop when Lucy needed a minute to compose herself. She kindly waved away Denise's sincere apology, and turning back to the mirrors, resolutely told her reflection that there was no way any of them were going to let Rittenhouse ruin Lucy and Wyatt's wedding day. They all had fought so hard for a long time and suffered terrible losses to get to where they were now…

 _End Flashback_

* * *

After supper, Lucy cleared the table while Wyatt loaded the dishwasher. During most evenings spent together when they were home, they ended up on the sofa in front of the television, sometimes viewing a DVD, but more often with Wyatt pretending to concentrate on a ball game, but really watching Lucy read or lately, work on wedding plans. Acutely aware of his steadfast, comforting gaze, every so often, she would smile to herself, secure in the knowledge of Wyatt's love and devotion.

This evening, however, a commercial playing on the television for disposable diapers caught her attention. "Wyatt?" Lucy asked hesitantly-keeping her eyes fixed on the book in her lap-achingly aware the subject she was about to broach with him was fraught with deep emotions for her fiancé, "Do you want...do you think...I mean, have you ever thought about us having children?" She sensed rather than saw Wyatt's shoulders stiffen, and when she risked a glance at his face, his jaw was tight as he continue to stare silently at the flat screen. A wave of remorse filled her chest-her impulsive question had not only been unfair, but clearly caught him off guard.

But even as she opened her mouth to stammer an apology, Lucy was stunned when his deep voice interrupted her. "Sure," Wyatt said simply, "Of course I have." Gazing up at him in surprise, her breath caught at the naked emotion in his dark blue eyes. "I love you so much, sweetheart. Soon, you're going to be my wife, and if we are so blessed, the mother of my children. There's nothing I want more in this world than to build a family with you," he declared quietly, with a wistful smile.

Lucy wasn't even aware of the tears slipping down her cheeks until Wyatt leaned toward her and gently swiped them away before pressing a tender kiss on her lips. He stood, and pulling Lucy to her feet, suggested they take the conversation to their bedroom. Throwing her arms around Wyatt's neck, she sniffled and whispered, "I love you, too, so much," deliberately echoing his heartfelt words, much to his obvious pleasure. Taking Lucy by the hand, he led her to their room, and for a time, there was no need for any words at all.

Much later, Lucy lay nestled against Wyatt's bare chest, drowsily listening to the steady beat of his heart under her cheek as his calloused hand lazily smoothed up and down her back. Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her soft hair, he murmured, "Since tonight is really the first time we've even talked about raising a family, there's something I should have told you a long time ago that's been weighing on my mind…"

Surprised, Lucy lifted her head from his chest and looked into his face. Bewildered by the faintly guilty expression he wore, she whispered hoarsely, "Wyatt, what is it? Did something happen?" practically holding her breath as the man she loved so fiercely began to unburden his soul.

Swallowing thickly, Wyatt confessed, "There's something I think you need to know about Jessica...and her pregnancy…" his voice trailed off, and his apparent struggle to find the right words was starting to alarm Lucy.

Shaking her head at him in confusion, she protested weakly, "Her pregnancy? What pregnancy? I don't understand, Wyatt-you said she wasn't pregnant...I mean, we _all_ thought she was lying about having your baby, trying to manipulate you…"

Sighing heavily, Wyatt asked Lucy if she remembered him telling her about the last time he'd encountered his ex-wife, during a mission not long after they'd saved Rufus. At her hesitant nod, he explained that he had been convinced by her very thin appearance that day that she wasn't pregnant, but something in him had to know _for sure_ , he couldn't let it go until he was certain she was indeed lying. But to his dismay, when Wyatt pressed her about it, Jessica had reluctantly informed him of the sad news that she really had been pregnant, but miscarried the child.

"I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach, so sick at heart I could hardly breathe," he choked out, "But God help me, Lucy, there was also a part of me that was nearly dizzy with relief." Wyatt's azure eyes shone with unshed tears, "I know how terrible that sounds, but all I could think about was the idea of an innocent child being brought into this world who would probably end up being used by Jessica and Emma as a weapon against me, against us…" Wyatt fell silent, his face crumpling under the crushing weight of his guilt, and his abject misery nearly broke Lucy's heart.

Horrified that Wyatt had been tormenting himself about this for _years_ , Lucy scooted up beside him and wrapping her slender arms around him, drew his head to her shoulder, wanting only to offer comfort. "Hey, shh, it's alright, love, I understand, believe me, I do. We've seen it first hand...think about it...someone in Rittenhouse, well, probably my mother and Emma, went back to Jessica's childhood, and changed her history in an effort to weaponize her against us, and nearly succeeded. So I have no doubt whatsoever that she and Emma would have done the same with a child of yours. So, stop beating yourself up, okay? You are going to be a wonderful father to our children, Wyatt, so end of discussion...have I made myself clear, soldier?"

Her heart swelled with love when Wyatt lifted his head and gazing intently into Lucy's eyes, solemnly returned the compliment,"Yes, ma'am, and it just so happens I feel the same about you, Lucy Preston, almost Logan-our kids are gonna be so lucky to have you as their mom."

Pressing her forehead to his, a pleased Lucy whispered against his lips, "And don't you forget it, Wyatt Logan," and grinned impishly when he laughed out loud before kissing her firmly. After he eventually fell asleep, Lucy lay awake in his strong arms for a long time, thinking about what Jessica had told Wyatt so many months ago, hoping uneasily with every fiber of her being that if his ex-wife truly _had_ been pregnant, that for once, the blonde hadn't been lying about losing the baby-because the alternative would be almost too painful for either of them to bear. Wyatt would be devastated to learn that he had fathered a child out there somewhere he knew nothing about.

Lucy slept poorly that night, and as soon as she opened her eyes the next morning, knew they'd overslept. Jumping out of bed and moving with an ease born of years spent with each other, they hurried through their usual morning routine. Wyatt threw together a quick breakfast and packed lunches while she rushed through a hasty shower before grabbing his own shower while she dressed. Less than an hour later, Wyatt pulled up in front of the bookstore to drop Lucy off before he had to meet Agent Christopher for a strategic planning meeting. Perhaps their intense conversation from last night was still on her mind because Lucy stole a few precious extra seconds to thoroughly kiss her fiance before sending him on his way with a big smile on his face. "I love you, Wyatt Logan," she whispered tenderly, briefly touching her forehead to his.

"Love you, too, ma'am," he responded with a dimpled grin. "I'll be back at lunch time," he promised, with one last kiss. After Lucy hopped out, Wyatt skillfully maneuvered his truck into traffic and sped away. Lucy stood and watched until he disappeared from view before going inside the bookstore to get her day started.

The shop had been open around an hour when the little bell above the door rang, signaling her first customer of the day. Lucy turned from the counter where she had been sorting books, surprised to see Will James approach her with a rather sober expression on his face.

"Well, look who's back," she said lightly, "Good morning, Will. Here for more research?"

Smiling pleasantly, he dipped his chin in acknowledgment before saying, "I want to thank you again, Lucy, for all your help-I don't know what I would have done without you putting me on the right track for my book."

She tentatively returned his smile before replying, "That's why this store is here, right? Glad to help." Turning back to her task, Lucy began gathering books from the counter, when he suddenly put his hand on top of the stack, fingers brushing against the back of her hand. She stilled abruptly at his wholly unexpected touch.

"No, let me clean these up," he offered, gazing at her intently.

Lucy looked at him then, curiosity flaring in her once more while thinking about that odd sensation of familiarity that seemed to follow Will James. "Sure, thanks," she said, nodding toward the correct section, "They can all go back on that top shelf."

He nodded, deftly scooping up the books and reshelving them. He turned back to face her, smiling-but she could tell something was… _off_. His smile didn't seem genuine, didn't reach his eyes. "Will, is something wrong?"

"What?" he asked.

"You just seem a little...uneasy, I guess," she said carefully, not sure how he would react to her concern.

At first Will shrugged her comment off, but then he brought his eyes back to hers and sighed. "I shouldn't be telling you this-I mean, I don't even know you-but you've been very kind and so easy to talk to. There's this project, you see, an assignment of sorts, that I'm supposed to do."

"Are you referring to your book?"

He chuckled quietly. "No, not that. This has nothing to do with my novel, actually. And it's important, but difficult, I think more difficult than I ever imagined it could be…and it's just-weighing on me a little, that's all."

Her brows drawn together in a slight frown, Lucy considered his deliberately vague explanation, not entirely certain what he was talking about. "So, it's important?"

He nodded. "I have to do it. It's just, to be honest, a bit overwhelming, and I find myself wondering how I'll get through it."

Nodding at him in understanding, Lucy shared, "I've felt that way before."

"You have?" his eyes widened in surprise.

"I have," she confirmed, smiling a little at the memory. "Once, several years ago when I was struggling and very unsure if I could do what I needed to, well, someone gave me some very good advice."

He gave Lucy an uncertain smile. "What was that advice?"

"Figure out what you're fighting for, and then you'll be okay."

"Figure out what you're fighting for…." Will repeated softly.

She nodded. "It's good advice-it helped me a lot then and continues to help me, even now."

He stood perfectly still then, seeming to mull over her words in his mind, before observing thoughtfully, "Figure out what you're fighting for…I like that. It makes sense. I think maybe those words will help me, too. You're lucky, you know, having someone concerned enough about you to give such good advice."

She smiled brightly, "Actually, it was my fiance who said that to me, although he wasn't my fiance at the time, since this was not long after we'd first met." Caught up in her reminiscing, Lucy was startled by the rigid set of his jaw, the sudden pallor of his complexion. "Will?" she questioned.

There was an awkward pause when she was by no means certain that he would reply at all, but then almost as rapidly as the pallor had come on, Will's features softened and his color slowly returned. _What an unexpected response,_ Lucy thought uneasily, suddenly aware that she was all alone with a man she'd met only yesterday, someone who was really starting to act strangely.

Giving Lucy a clipped nod, he asked rather abruptly if he might use the restroom. After pointing towards the open door at the rear of the shop leading to the hallway where the bathroom was located, Lucy stood and watched Will duck through the doorway, a troubled expression on her face, before turning her attention back to reshelving the rest of the books. She thought briefly about texting Wyatt, but remembered he was in a meeting with Denise, and besides, there wasn't anything necessarily threatening about her solitary customer this morning-she was probably just being paranoid.

Just as Lucy put the last book away, Will appeared in the doorway with a faintly apologetic expression on his face. "Lucy? Lord, this is so embarrassing, but I think there's something wrong with the plumbing in the restroom. And unfortunately, I'm just rubbish at this kind of thing. Could you come have a look?"

Much later, Lucy would look back and be horrified at how easily she let her guard down around a stranger-something Wyatt had repeatedly cautioned her against over the years. At that very second, though, her first thought was worrying about having a working restroom for the grand opening, followed immediately by imagining the pissed-off look on her fiance's face when he found out she had to call a plumber after all. Brushing past Will, Lucy hurried to the bathroom, dimly sensing him hot on her heels, apprehensive at what she'd find.

Cautiously pushing open the door, she stood in the doorway, bewildered when a hasty glance around the small room revealed no trace of a plumbing problem-everything looked fine, as far as she could tell. Scarcely aware of Will's solid presence at her shoulder, just as Lucy turned around-wondering, much too late, _why was he standing so close?_ -she felt a sharp prick on the side of her neck. "Ow," she gasped involuntarily, staring up at an oddly grim-faced Will in shocked disbelief as she brought a shaky hand to her neck. "What...what was that...what did you do to me?" she whispered, her words starting to slur as the room began to spin. Her limbs felt strangely heavy, and she blinked furiously at the little black dots floating at the edges of her vision. As if from a distance, Lucy felt herself being easily swept up and held against a surprisingly sturdy masculine chest. " _Wyatt? Wyatt, please, I need you,_ " was her last coherent thought before the darkness claimed her…

* * *

 _A/N #1: Oh, Lucy, you really should pay attention to your instincts…'cause stuff's about to get real now :( On the brighter side, if anyone is interested, Lucy's wedding dress and veil are real-we found them on the David's Bridal website. (The dress is number 7WG3851 and the veil is V2010, if you want to check them out.) As always, thank you to everyone who continues to follow our crazy little story (especially if you take the time to review), and of course, big bunches of thanks and appreciation to my amazing writing partner-Q, you're the best, and I love collaborating with you, my Timeless friend :))_

 _A/N #2: Uh oh, seems like William's figured out what he's fighting for….or at least he *thinks* he has…. All kinds of thanks to Gracie, so excited to be getting into this part of our story, and loving this whole process with you! Huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review and especially to those guest reviewers we can't reply to directly like Shelly - Thank you, thank you for all your kind words!_


End file.
